The Darkest Night
by Loki19
Summary: Draco is bitten one night and becomes one of the things he most despises. Is it a coincidence that Voldemort seems especially interested? War, betrayal, and a fight for survival against everything he holds dear. A bit of humor too : UPDATED! Nov. 13th!
1. Revenge is Not So Sweet

Draco is bitten one night and becomes one of the things he most despises. Is it a coincidence that Voldemort seems especially interested? War, betrayal, and a fight for survival against everything he holds dear.  
  
The Darkest Night Chapter One: Revenge Is Not So Sweet  
  
"And it's Gryffindor in the lead, 90-120. Great save by Keeper Ron Weasley! That was a close one. Now if only the stinking, cheating Slytherins would actually, oh, sorry Professor. Anyway, Aiden Harrison takes the quaffle."  
  
Lee Jordan's newest protégé, a blonde boy with a mass of freckles called Stevens, had apparently picked up some of the same habits as Lee Jordan himself. It had been a tearful day when Lee had been forced to hand over the magical megaphone to the next generation, but let it be known that his replacement was doing just fine on his own, and would have made him proud.  
  
"Penalty! That should have been a penalty shot to Gryffindor! How could she have missed that? What are you? Sensory deprived or something? We need a new ref- hey! No, that's mine! I'm the announcer, which means it's my mega-"  
  
McGonagall's crisp voice came over the amplifier, and she began to announce the game herself. The former announcer, Stevens, sulked behind her like an unruly child, but often cast longing glances at the megaphone. Every now and then a finger would twitch. Those beside the professor inched away. It was plain that the boy was about to attempt to wrestle it back any second now.  
  
It was one of the most exciting matches of the season, not to mention the dirtiest. Slytherin was taking full advantage of Madam Hooch's absence, as she was sick with the Machellian flu. Instead, Professor Sprout was playing referee. Not that she was anyone's first preference, but they really needed an impartial judge, and she happened to be their only choice. She had been a fair chaser for the Hufflepuff house team in her day, so at least she knew what she was doing.  
  
Professor Snape glowered in the stands. Obviously, he had wanted the position of referee. Oh well, another year gone by with the same results. Now if he could only get that DADA job.  
  
Unfortunately, Professor Sprout's eyes were not nearly as watchful as the hawk-eyed gaze of Madam Hooch. Another foul by Slytherin went unnoticed, and a loud boo rose from three sections of the stands.  
  
Draco Malfoy, sneaky Slytherin that he was, was also fully prepared to take advantage of this once in a lifetime situation. It was his final year at Hogwarts, and he intended to out due his other six, both on the Quidditch pitch and by the amount of abuse that Potter and his tag along friends received. As he sat on his broom, high above the field, he couldn't help but think about the horrible and nasty pranks that he was planning for the group. He smiled to himself, pushing a lock of fine blond hair away from his eyes as he did so, already imagining the look of shock on Granger's face when everything she tried to eat turned to mud. Few muggles knew that the whole Midis touch deal had actually been a wizard's April Fool's joke. He smiled again smugly. It was the little things in life that counted. That would teach the dirty mudblood to learn her station. Honestly, someone had to remind her of her proper place, and who better than a member of one of the oldest wizarding families in all of England?  
  
His thoughts strayed again, which is probably the reason why he was late in seeing Harry dive for the snitch. Cursing under his breath, Draco pulled a spectacular dive, which would have probably elicited many ooo's and ahh's if the crowd wasn't so busy watching Harry. He was always a show off anyway. And to make matters worse, he pretended to be so humble about it all the time. It made Draco sick just thinking about it.  
  
Draco flew for the snitch, the wind whipping at his silver hair. He set his face in determination. There's no way I'm letting Potter get the snitch again, he thought to himself darkly. They were finally neck and neck, both hands reaching as the snitch took another dive towards the stands. They weaved in and out, speeding through the air as if their lives depended on it. The snitch made a dash down the field, with the two seekers following closely behind it.  
  
"Having trouble Potter?" Draco yelled, even though he too was panting from exertion.  
  
"Grow up Malfoy!"  
  
His green eyes flashed with a mixture of annoyance and anger when they briefly fell upon the pale face of his adversary. The snitch changed direction again, making them both pull upwards and round a bend at even faster speeds.  
  
This had been enough for Draco. With one quick movement, he punched Harry in the jaw, a look of surprise etched across the Gryffindor's face, sending him straight into one of the towers. If not for another pull on his broom, Harry would have become the newest splat on the side of the wall. And lucky for Draco, Professor Sprout was again oblivious to the happenings high above her head. The quaffle changed hands again, and she kept her eyes riveted to the ball.  
  
During the confusion, the snitch had disappeared, leaving the two seekers circling high above the pitch once again. Harry was now watching Draco as well as the rest of the pitch. A dark bruise was already forming across his jaw line. Definitely an improvement to the Scarhead's face, if you asked Draco. It was obvious that he didn't trust him to play fair for a second, and clearly expected Draco to try and sabotage the game again. Well, I'll do my best to oblige.  
  
Whooooosh! With a rush of wind, a dark blur flew past his ear, narrowly missing his head. He flailed, off balance, turning, slipping, grasping for purchase. NO! He grabbed his broom handle just in time, breathing heavily, sweat trickling down his nose. He pushed a shaky hand through his hair and away from his eyes.  
  
That had been a close one. He had been nearly unseated by a bludger! Draco looked around wildly for his assailant, only to see a sheepish looking Crabbe at the far end of the field. The bovine Slytherin beater shrugged helplessly, and went on with the game like nothing had happened. His eyes narrowed with loathing and he ground his teeth to keep a tirade of insults from pouring from his mouth. Idiot! Imbecile! Didn't the lump realize that he had almost taken out Slytherin's best and only seeker? He vowed to give him a good tongue-lashing. Too bad he never understood most of the insults.  
  
Harry was smirking. Draco glared, and then turned his attention back to the field.  
  
Suddenly, a small scuffle could be heard over the megaphone. But when everyone looked to see the source of the noise, all they could see was Stevens, slightly red in the face, holding the magical megaphone in one hand and his wand in the other. The boy was breathing heavily and beaming, a crafty sort of smile playing about his lips. Where had McGonagall gone to?  
  
"Haha! Thought she had me beaten, didn't she? Thought she had disposed of Stevens, hadn't she? Well I've got some news for her. Too bad owls don't go where she is right now. Oh well, on with the match! Slytherin in possession and making a bee line towards the goal. O'Leary passes to Harrisson, Harrisson shoots.and scores! Ten more points to Slytherin."  
  
Draco's grey hued eyes scanned the field as blurs of color swept past him. He was barely listening to the announcer, although he was aware that Gryffindor was still in the lead.  
  
Come on; come on, where is it? He just had to win. The last time he had lost to Harry, again, his father had sent a rather embarrassing message, in the form of a Howler. He had barely made it out of the Great Hall before the letter seemed to explode, with his father's voice magnified one hundred times its normal volume. "You have disgraced the family name! Yadda yadda yadda, blah blah blah. It was all the same thing. A complete load of dragon crap. It had gone on in a similar fashion for several agonizing minutes. Finally, the red envelope had ripped itself to shreds, only to explode again seconds later, fizzled scraps of paper flying around the main entrance way like a New Year's party. It also hadn't helped matters that the entire Gryffindor table was still shaking with laughter by the time that he got back, with the idiotic trio laughing the loudest.  
  
Draco snapped back to reality when he noticed a glint of gold at the far end of the field. I've got you now. Draco, face set in stone, let his steely gaze focus on the golden winged ball. He flattened his body against the broom, and tried not to blink as the snitch zigzagged around the field. Unfortunately, Harry had seen it too, and now they were both making a mad dash towards the snitch. Neck and neck again, furiously dodging the bludgers in their wake, they raced around the goal posts.  
  
The wind whipped his cloak and hair, making his eyes water. He blinked rapidly, all the time keeping his eyes ahead of him. Sweat drizzled down his forehead, into his eyes, and down his aristocratic nose. He didn't dare wipe it away. One blink, one turn of the head, and it could be gone.  
  
The two boys were so close now, their knees brushed against each other. Draco chanced a glance at his opponent. Harry's dark hair was plastered to his forehead, but the famous red scar was still clear against the boy's pale skin. The scar was always there, a reminder of things that had been and things that were to happen. Harry's mouth was set in a thin line. His green eyes blazed, locked ahead, only to flick back when he felt the gaze of another. Green eyes met grey, eyes that taunted the Slytherin, almost as if to say "I dare you to try that again."  
  
Well, it worked last time, he thought maliciously, and gave Harry another shove with all of his might. Harry, fully expecting this move, was able to hold his ground as they both flew towards the snitch. What Draco was not expecting, though, was a sudden uppercut from Harry, which sent him careening in a totally different direction, mainly down. His head snapped back, and he saw stars. He's a Gryffindor; he's not supposed to hit back, why, that's cheating! Draco was a bit preoccupied to call foul though, for not two seconds later, he crashed into the field, making several spectacular rolls and tumbles across the ground before he landed face first in the grass.  
  
It was most undignified.  
  
"And Gryffindor wins!" shouted Stevens, who was practically leaping out of the stands. "Gryffindor victory over Slytherin!"  
  
His body, now bruised in a million different places, screamed at him to stay still. Slowly, he lifted his gaze, only to let it rest on Harry Potter, with a stupid grin playing across his face. Harry, hand held high, was clutching a small golden ball tightly in his fist.  
  
Draco groaned, and let his face fall back into the grass. Just let me die right here. Maybe if I pretend I'm dead, no one will notice I'm here and they'll leave me alone. Maybe I punctured a lung, or maybe my neck is broken and I don't know it yet. He wriggled his toes just to make sure. They moved. Damn.  
  
McGonagall, sopping wet and trailing long shoots of green seaweed, stalked across the field, Stevens in tow. It had been a long time since anybody had seen her this mad, let alone this wet. Many a student pitied the poor boy as she dragged him by his shirt collar across the ground. He had a slightly glazed look about him, but appeared satisfied with his actions. He still wouldn't let go of the megaphone.  
  
"I won!" He shouted to anybody who would listen to him. "I have vanquished her! I still have the last laugh!" Stevens began to laugh maniacally and gripped the megaphone tighter still, clutching it to his chest like some cherished keepsake. Some students cheered as he was hauled along.  
  
"Dr-Draco," a voice asked hesitantly. "Draco, are y-you OK?"  
  
He couldn't remember what the kid's name was. O'Leary? O'Malley? It could have been O' Friggin Dunderhead for all Draco cared at the moment. He was a Slytherin chaser, and all that mattered right now was that he was disturbing Draco's peace, if you could call it that. With a snarl, Draco pushed the boy away, and slowly rose to his feet. He could see the crowd spilling out into the pitch, cheering and screaming for everyone but him. There would definitely be a party tonight in the Gryffindor common room. A look of disgust crossed his face, which he diverted from the sickeningly cheery scene.  
  
The rest of the Slytherin team was walking slowly towards the locker room, faces downcast, seeing as Harry Potter had once again stolen the game from their grasp. Draco Malfoy, team captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, had lost once again. With one last final look at the pitch, Draco turned on his heel and made his way back to the locker room. It had been a long day.  
  
******************************************************  
  
Just who does he think he is anyway? Just because he's famous, Harry Potter gets all the glory. Potter this, Potter that, I swear that the next person who even mentions Potter's name will watch as their own tongue is hexed out of their mouth. That would teach them to keep talking.  
  
Draco crunched through the Forbidden Forest, eyes scanning the ground. Moonlight filtered through the trees. It was one o'clock in the morning as Draco Malfoy again broke a branch underfoot, heedless of the noise it caused. His mind was just too busy. And his chin still hurt from the earlier assault by Potter. I'll get you back, and then you'll regret everything you've ever done to me. You'll wish you were dead, you'll wish you were.uh.something worse than dead! He was now currently searching for ablazia, a quite poisonous plant, but necessary for his purposes.  
  
Harry Potter would never see this coming, not in a million years. That plant was the last ingredient for a particularly malicious engorgement potion. Let's see Harry Potter fly on a broom if he can't even stand up to get out of bed. How many girls would swoon over Potter if he suddenly weighed a thousand pounds? Draco grinned wickedly. He could almost hear Potter's scream of surprise when he saw his limbs growing to the size of a side of beef. Speaking of sides of beef, maybe we could hang him upside down on a meat hook, and auction the pictures at the next Death Eater's Annual Charity Ball? Of course, all proceeds would go to the Bring-the- Dark-Lord-Back-to-Power-So-He-Can-Rule-the-Earth Charity. Not exactly the most benevolent charity in the world. Not that he cared. He didn't much care what the Dark Lord did, as long as he left Draco out of it. That was his father's hobby, not his.  
  
For his entire life, Draco had been exposed to dark magic in one way or another. His father was a constant crusader for the dark arts. It actually was a very interesting topic, and it appealed to him greatly. It was almost a misnomer, the name "dark arts". Magic in any form could be considered dark if used incorrectly or for sinister purposes. It was just a name, but most wizards couldn't see this point of view. If performed correctly, most dark spells have very little chance of hurting anyone at all, unless meant for the sole purpose of pain or death. It was just a means to an end, and many dark spells could be utilized in a much easier manner than light spells. Why take the long way when a shortcut is right in front of you?  
  
So while he was a supporter of the dark arts, he was not an ally to Voldemort. Unfortunately, the two subjects often went hand in hand. As long as he could continue learning, with minimal groveling mind you, then he would also continue to put on the proper face: one of complete devotion to the Dark Lord and everything that he stood for. Once Draco had what he wanted, then there would be no need to continue the farce. He could leave the service of Voldemort, under some made up pretense, and never look back. Draco hadn't figured out all the minor details yet, but it was a good plan so far.  
  
He glanced at the ground again, careful to sidestep a knotted root growing in his path. The forest was strangely silent, which made Draco a bit nervous. Of course, the scenery didn't help much either. Fog covered the ground, giving the forest a decidedly eerie feeling. Shadows danced around him, making him turn in surprise (and fright, although he would never admit it) as a sudden movement caught his eye. A wolf howled in the distance, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. That is definitely too close for comfort.  
  
He mentally cursed Hagrid for never teaching them defense against the local inhabitants of the Forbidden Forest, especially the wolves. It probably wouldn't have helped though. They weren't exactly magical, more of a nuisance actually. Besides, they most likely weren't vicious enough for Hagrid's strange tastes.  
  
Ahh, now don' be afraid. They jus' get a little hungry ev'ry now and then. All you 'ave to do is feed 'em an' they calm righ' down. Now, now, watch yer fingers, they do 'ave a tendency to nip a bit.  
  
Yes, Hagrid's every solution to dealing with dangerous animals would be to feed it and sing it a lullaby. Next time I catch him asleep, I'll charm his beard to magically braid itself with pink ribbons. No, on second thought, the oaf might actually like that.  
  
A wolf howled once more, sending its mournful cry throughout the forest. Was the sound closer this time, or was it just his imagination?  
  
His breath caught in his throat, a sudden panic rising like bile. This was way too similar to his first "adventure" into the Forbidden Forest, when he'd run away screaming like a little girl (although he would never admit to that either). It had made the forest seem more bearable when he had had someone to talk to, even if it was Harry Bloody Potter. He wouldn't mind having Potter here right now, for a matter of fact. If something ended up chasing them, then all Draco would have to do is stick out a foot and trip the Scarhead. Problem solved. He would be safe, and Potter would become instant fast food for whatever happened to be chasing them at the time. Yes, Potter had his uses after all. He made a mental note to write that idea down sometime. It might come in handy.  
  
He jumped again, certain that he had heard a noise this time. The crack of a branch, the scrape of a twig against something solid. Forget the stupid plant, he was outta there. He'd just have to break into Snape's private stores again.  
  
He backed away from the direction of the noise, never for an instant turning his back to whatever happened to be lurking in the vicinity. His breathing quickened involuntarily. This had been a bad idea.  
  
A branch snapped again, but this time, it was a lot closer. Is this thing taunting me? No, that's stupid, it's just a rabbit or a deer, and I'm going to go back to school knowing that Bambi and Thumper almost made me wet my pants. (A/N: let's pretend that he's seen the movie) Malfoys don't run, he thought, a surge of pride running through him. Well, OK, Malfoys don't run, but they do some creative jogging, skipping, trotting, or sprinting away from whatever danger may threaten them if the need comes. They're not stupid, you know.  
  
He grasped his wand, eyes searching frantically for whatever made the disturbance. At first, he saw nothing, and then a dark shape slowly started to take form. Draco froze, his wand forgotten at his side. His heart hammered against his chest as his eyes lit upon the hulking mass before him. Yellow eyes met his, and they seemed to pierce his very soul, so much to the point where Draco almost forgot to breathe. The eyes flashed as the thing growled and licked away the spittle that hung from its snarling muzzle. It was the size of a small bear; a lumbering, angry, and very hungry bear. The wolf's grey and matted fur bristled across its back, and it growled again, this time making the rumble come from deep within its chest. Draco felt the panic rise again. His feet felt like lead, and he gulped for air, although none seemed to enter his lungs.  
  
What do I do? There's no Potter to trip and make a run for it. Oh, almost forgot, Malfoys don't run. I would have to jog instead. But that doesn't help my current situation. Think, damn it, think!  
  
The wolf stepped forward, eying him hungrily. A drop of sweat rolled down Draco's forehead, and his mouth felt like he'd been sucking on cotton all day.  
  
What do I do?  
  
Use your wand, you idiot, a little voice in the back on his head said. Oh yeah! He was acting like a muggle! He finally found control of his limbs, although his hand was still shaking badly. He brought his wand up, and said in his clearest voice possible (although it too was very shaky) "STUPE- ", and the wolf lunged.  
  
His heavy front paws hit Draco's shoulders, causing Draco to give an "Umph" as his breath was knocked from his body as he hit the ground. His wand flew from his hand, and now lay uselessly in some unknown spot.  
  
Hot, sour breath met his face, and he briefly caught a glimpse of sharp yellow teeth, right before they clamped themselves into Draco's left shoulder. White hot searing pain erupted from his shoulder as it was wrenched in the wolf's teeth, tearing muscle and sinew. Each tooth was like a tiny serrated dagger, ripping its way through his body. He yelled in agony, eyes watering from the sheer pain of every twist and jerk of the wolf's head. He yelled until his throat became hoarse.  
  
The wolf licked its bloody chops noisily, saliva dripping from its muzzle, enjoying the pain of its victim. They always tasted better when they struggled.  
  
Through a dark haze of pain, Draco used his right hand to fumble for a weapon, anything! His fingers clasped firmly around the closest object to him, and before he even knew what he was doing, he had lifted his weapon and brought it down upon the wolf as hard as he could. The wolf howled in pain, a stick now jutting from one of its red, bleeding eye sockets. Growling fiercely, the wolf pawed at its head, trying in vain to dislodge the stick.  
  
Draco, now fully coming back to his senses, shakily pulled his ravaged body towards a tree to use as leverage. Panting, he bit back the tears that threatened to let loose. He hauled himself up, nails cutting into the bark, and leaned against its trunk. The Slytherin stifled a cry as more pain shot through his body. He was going to pass out right there if he didn't do something.  
  
The wolf still clawed at its face, oblivious to the bleeding boy.  
  
I don't care what father says, this Malfoy is definitely running.  
  
*********************************************************  
  
He stumbled through the trees, trying desperately to hold onto consciousness. Tree branches whipped at his arms and face, gnarled roots and holes grabbed at his heels, but he still continued to run. Just a little bit more, come on, Potter could do it.  
  
As this thought struck him, he grew immediately angry, mainly because he knew this statement to be true. I can do anything Potter can do, even if it's dragging my own bleeding body halfway across the world. This thought kept him going, even as his vision started to blur and his body threatened to give out. Potter could do it, Potter could do it.  
  
He was mumbling to himself now, even as he walked the last few feet out of the forest and stood beside Hagrid's hut. He staggered up the few short steps and collapsed against the door, feebly knocking as he did so. His chest felt heavy, and he was now laboring for every raspy breath that escaped his lips. His shoulder burned, but that wasn't his first concern. He felt some of his old arrogance return.  
  
Ha! I knew I could do it. I bet I got here faster than Potter could have, Draco thought, a smug grin appearing on his face, only to disappear when another notion entered his thoughts. I wonder if I'll get house points taken off for this. Snape's going to be really pissed at me.  
  
Heavy footsteps sounded in the distance, but to Draco's hearing, they sounded like they were underwater. He felt like he was going to be sick. His thoughts drifted, and he finally gave into the black rolling waves of darkness that had threatened his vision ever since the attack. 


	2. Revelations and Ruminations

Chapter 2: Revelations and Ruminations  
  
Disclaimer: Kind of important, I forgot about it in the last chapter. If you're JK Rowling, please don't sue me! You already have a ton of money, so there really is no point in suing a simple college student such as myself. I make no money from this, and only take pleasure in the tremendous amount of reviews that I hope to gain!  
  
AN: This chapter is a bit slow, but it has to be done to get some information out of the way. Please don't go away yet! It's long too. Do you guys like long chapters, or would you rather I posted more often with shorter chapters? Please tell me, I do this for you! Reviews answered at the end of this chapter.  
  
Draco opened his eyes, although he immediately wished that he hadn't. For some mysterious reason, his shoulder ached, but the reason for this pain eluded him at the moment. Hushed voices drifted across the hospital wing.  
  
"So what are we supposed to do Albus? We cannot contact his father. You and I both know what might occur if-"  
  
"I am very well aware of that Minerva, but I feel that this is not a decision to be made by us. It is his choice, and his alone."  
  
"But Albus, we all know the boy's reputation. He'll run to Him as soon as he is able to walk."  
  
Draco blinked, slowly coming to understand his current location. The light from the windows shined in, making him blink again, a slight look of irritation playing across his face as he groaned and put a hand up to shield his eyes.  
  
Where am I? White curtains, sickeningly cheery atmosphere, ugh, right, must be the hospital wing. Someone needs to close the drapes around here.  
  
Voices continued to drift to his ears, and he turned his head to look for the speakers. Who's talking? Sounds like they have a lot of problems. Stupid git, getting himself into trouble, you would never see me getting caught. He snorted to himself, a look of contempt now appearing on his face. This look quickly changed to one of confusion. Something tugged at the back of his mind, trying desperately to come into the open. He shrugged it off. If it was important, it would come back to him later.  
  
He now looked down at his own body, eyeing his flannel pajamas with distaste. Flannel was definitely not a fabric that his wardrobe consisted of. Too common. Sheets surrounded his bed, blocking his view from whoever happened to walk past. Why was his bed away from the others? Had his father finally bullied Dumbledore into giving him his own private section of the hospital wing? Well, it's nice to get a bit of privacy around here.  
  
He heard the voices again, but this time they were definitely moving in his direction. His body tensed. What was going on?  
  
"So what do we tell him? In all my years at Hogwarts, I've never had such a thing happen. At least the last case was prepared, he knew well before he even set foot on these grounds. This is not to be taken lightly, especially under the present circumstances." McGonagall sounded flustered, as if she'd had a bad hair day and gotten food poisoning during the middle of exam week. Entirely too much stress. It's bad for a woman of her age. Not that he was concerned or anything.  
  
"I know, believe me. But I also do not feel that we should overreact. Lemon drop?"  
  
Did Dumbledore take those things everywhere with him? Draco thought so. Last year, he'd received forty six tins of lemon drop candy from the students and faculty for Christmas. Obviously, his penchant for those little candies was well known. He vaguely wondered if there was something in those lemon drops besides just candy.  
  
"Err, no, thank you. Don't you think it's about time we do something though? We have to talk to him as soon as possible. Who knows when He will decide to act?"  
  
He?  
  
"Minerva, Voldemort was never the man to act rashly. He will take every single detail into account before he moves even his weakest pawn. If he attacks in full strength, it is only a matter of time before checkmate. It is for this reason that we must have a counterattack planned before he himself knows what he plans to do. But, in these circumstances, I also feel that it is time for us to pay young Mr. Malfoy a visit. It is a bit earlier in the game than I had planned, but, in the present situation, we must make allowances."  
  
Young Mister Malfoy?! They were talking about him! He had been listening intently to the conversation, wincing at the mention of the Dark Lord's name. But this, this was a new development! What had happed to elevate his status to the point where McGonagall and Dumbledore thought it urgent to pay him a visit? His mind was shouting to him now. What had happened to him? Why was he here?  
  
He rolled over in his bed and leaned over as far as he could in the direction of the voices, craning his neck to look through the sheets. He gasped in pain. The movement had sent a shock of pain through his body.  
  
"What the-" Pulling aside his flannel night shirt, he stared at his shoulder. The entire area was tense and stretched, with a dozen angry red puncture marks staring back at him. They were star shaped, like the bite of a wild animal. A wild animal.  
  
And then the events of the night before came flooding back to him. The prank, so important at the time, now seemed childish and stupid. The attack, those horrible eyes... He shivered involuntarily, and felt like wrapping his arms around his body. Instead, he continued to stare at his shoulder, as if somehow the angry glare it was now receiving would convince the scars to melt away from his otherwise unmarred flesh.  
  
Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall chose that exact moment to pull back the curtain. Draco fumbled with the buttons on his nightshirt. He had completely forgotten that they were still in the hospital wing.  
  
"Ahh, I see you are awake at last. Feeling better?" Dumbledore smiled.  
  
His eyes twinkled as usual, which always seemed to leave Draco with an extremely unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. There's got to be something wrong with a guy whose eyes twinkled that much. His father had always thought Dumbledore a meddlesome fool, a tack in the heel of his boot. Or at least that's what he claimed. Draco had often wondered what drove Lucius' actions against Dumbledore, whether it was jealousy, obedience to the Dark Lord, or just plain fear. He had a hard time imagining that it was fear. Or if it was, he masked it perfectly. Lucius made an intimidating figure, even when he wasn't trying to be, which wasn't often. He had been doing everything possible for years to get Dumbledore sacked. Bribery, extortion, and death threats were not beyond him. In fact, they were his favorite forms of coercion. Service with a smile.  
  
"Yes Mr. Malfoy, you gave us quite a fright; we were rather concerned," said McGonagall, her face set in her sternest expression possible, looking anything but concerned at the moment. She looked like she was just itching to take 100 points from Slytherin. She began again, her voice rising in volume slightly. "How could you wander off in the middle of the night, into the Forbidden Forest no less! And you, a 7th year! Surely, I would expect this of a first year, but." And she droned on and on and on.  
  
Draco's eyes were downcast, his arms crossed over his chest. He had long learned to shut McGonagall out. He leaned back against the pillows, preparing for the long tirade that he knew wouldn't stop for a while. Where was Professor Snape when you needed him?  
  
It wasn't that he was afraid of her, (OK, maybe a little. She was almost as bad as Professor Snape when she wanted to be.) He just couldn't get past her like he could with the rest of the teachers. She didn't fall for his charm, wit, or cunning. It really was quite disappointing, and a blow to the ego at that. He sighed inwardly. I guess you can't win them all.  
  
"Minerva, I think we have some important matters to be discussed," Dumbledore said softly, barely above a whisper. McGonagall, tight lipped as always, nodded curtly. The anger appeared to drain from her face, leaving instead a look of agitated nervousness.  
  
Draco had no idea what to think of the scene before him. McGonagall had become silent once more. He would have been more at ease if she had continued to berate him. At least he could have continued to stare at his bed sheets. You know, prisoners had better bed sheets that these. What was the thread count? 200? 150 even? It felt like burlap! No Malfoy would even dream of having less than 350, and that was roughing it. And white, why did it always have to white? Surely Hogwarts could afford-  
  
"Mr. Malfoy." Draco's head snapped back up, looking slightly annoyed that he had let his mind wander in front of the two teachers. McGonagall continued to speak.  
  
"Now, this will come as quite a shock, I'm sure, but." Her voice trailed off, as if she couldn't find the words to express what she way about to say. She pursed her lips again, almost in determination, and took another breath. "Do you remember what happened to you last night?"  
  
Draco sat for a moment, a thoughtful expression across his face. He chose his words carefully. He told them about meeting the beast in the forest, the attack, and his daring escape. He had conveniently omitted the reason he was out in the forest in the first place. They didn't ask, and he wasn't about to volunteer that small piece of information.  
  
"I see," said McGonagall. She hesitated again, eyes downcast. This wasn't like her at all! And why didn't she want to look at him in the eyes?  
  
She gazed at him again, and said with the utmost sincerity, "Mr. Malfoy, I'm afraid to say that we believe you were attacked by a werewolf."  
  
His face paled noticeably, if that was possible, his face filling with a look of mingled horror and shock. He didn't hear the rest of McGonagall's words; they all seemed to jumble together in the back of his head. A werewolf? He couldn't be; he just couldn't. He was Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune. It just wasn't possible. His life would be ruined! He wouldn't be able to go to school; he would become a social outcast, mistrusted by the entire wizarding community. And Father! What would he do? If Draco was lucky, he might be disowned. If he was lucky. He forced himself back, to listen to McGonagall's monotone voice. He forced himself to steady his breathing, to remain calm, even nonchalant about this startling news. He had learned to control his emotions long ago, and there was no way he would let the Head of Gryffindor House see a Slytherin in a state of panic.  
  
"-so we, as representatives of the school, have decided not to contact your father or the rest of your family. While we feel that this is the best course of action, we will not prevent you from doing so. We only mention this for your own safety, and perhaps for the safety of the rest of the students at Hogwarts."  
  
He went over these words in his mind. Now what had she just said? His thoughts were spinning so fast that he almost grabbed the side of the bed. Refraining from doing so, Draco instead posed one of the questions that had been bothering him since he had first awoken and heard Dumbledore and McGonagall speaking.  
  
No hint of emotion reached his voice. "Professor, what does this have anything to do with the Dark Lo-, I mean, You-Know-Who?"  
  
Dumbledore now gave Draco a meaningful look. "Choose your words carefully Mr. Malfoy. The name Dark Lord implies reverence. It implies that Voldemort (Draco winced) deserves such an esteemed title. Please do not confuse his deeds for something to be respected. His name is Voldemort, and avoiding the usage of that name implies fear. That is one emotion that you cannot afford yourself, Mr. Malfoy." His voice had become grave as he spoke, but it was steady, strong.  
  
Draco had a feeling that Dumbledore had said these words before. Did he practice his speeches in front of the mirror or something?  
  
He waited for the rest of the answer.  
  
McGonagall seemed to be at a loss for words. Instead, she looked at Dumbledore, who had barely said a word during the entire conversation outside of these last few lines. He stepped forward, transfigured two chairs with a wave of his wand, and heavily sat down, hands in his lap. He looked tired, and his face seemed to age another ten years before Draco's eyes.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, it is well known that your father has had, err, certain connections with Voldemort in the past."  
  
Draco couldn't help but snort at this comment. Was he kidding? His father practically paraded around in the streets shouting his loyalties, although never within hearing distance of the Ministry of Magic. And it didn't help that Draco did the same thing at school. Money and power had been at his fingertips all of his life. Why not flaunt it when you got whatever you wanted?  
  
Dumbledore continued like he hadn't heard him. "We fear that any information about your new nature would immediately go to Voldemort."  
  
Now this was sobering news. It was no longer a laughing matter, not that he was one to laugh anyway. Draco again stared at his sheets. He knew what Dumbledore had said was true. His father would feed him to a whole pack of rabid Hippogriffs if he thought the Dark Lord would notice. It was not in his father's nature to love, at any rate not in the usual sense, and this had been apparent to Draco ever since he was old enough to grasp a wand. The cold hearted bastard. According to his father, emotions were a weakness, and an enemy's natural move would be to attack that weakness. Control had been his greatest ally his entire life. He kept his emotions at bay, hidden from his peers and his teachers. In this way, he commanded the respect of both. He was a calm and collected person most of the time. You had to be if you lived in Malfoy Manor.  
  
A frown creased his features, betraying a mere hint of his thoughts. Yes, his father would sacrifice him without a second thought.  
  
He looked back at Dumbledore, who had been gauging his reaction the entire time. Seeing as Draco hadn't cried out in a fit of despair, Dumbledore continued.  
  
"We don't know exactly what he is doing, but we do feel that it is necessary to warn you. As I am sure you are well aware of, Voldemort has been slowly gaining power over the years, especially with the help of a few of his most trusted servants." Dumbledore gave Draco another significant look, but Draco felt a sudden urge to avert his gaze. Since when did Draco Malfoy EVER feel the need to avert his gaze? He always won the staring matches, and was almost always able to send his opponent away with a feeling of complete defeat. With the exception of Potter that is. He mentally growled. They were both getting on his nerves. He crossed his arms again, and a look of defiance spread across his face. Why was this man able to have such control over him? Why did he make him feel guilty about something that hadn't even mattered to him just a few days ago? It felt like years.  
  
"With that said, you should also know that Voldemort has been calling the dark creatures to his aid. The Dementors, as you know, have already joined him, and the only thing holding the prisoners in Azkaban is a small army of Aurors. As yet, there is no physical pull, but I feel that it could turn into something more. Few are resisting the urge to come to his side, so as now, there is no need for extreme measures. But if the war, for that is what it will become, continues and starts to turn in our favor, I have no doubt in my mind that Voldemort will result to any means necessary to call more minions to his aid. The Hogwarts wards on these grounds should counteract any of Voldemort's attempts as of yet, but I won't underestimate him. He has the power, if he wishes, to send his call anywhere. The wards will only be able to protect you for so long. If Voldemort knew of you now, in your present condition, I have no doubt that he would demand your immediate presence by his side. The son of one of his most trusted Deatheaters, who is a dark creature himself? Not even Voldemort has the power that you now hold. This is the power to control entire armies, each having the ability to decimate an entire population. You must make a choice."  
  
His voice trailed off and a silence overcame the trio. Dumbledore's eyes had lost their twinkle, so that now they seemed dark, almost menacing. The kindly old man looked suddenly powerful, and Draco hoped that he would never have to face Dumbledore as an enemy.  
  
Dumbledore's mind was now obviously somewhere else besides the hospital wing. His brows were together, and he had a look of deep concentration. A small frown creased his lips.  
  
"Albus?" Professor McGonagall began tentatively. She whispered his name again, but this time with a little more force accompanied by a gentle shake of the shoulder. Dumbledore turned his head slightly to face her.  
  
"Hmm? Oh, yes, of course." He turned his head to Draco again, his features returning to their normal cheery state. He smiled. "Arrangements will be made, Mr. Malfoy, for all of your special needs to come. Luckily, though, you will not have to worry about that for a few more weeks. Poppy will come into see you later, as she is well experienced with this type of situation. Once you have made your decision, we will, of course, notify Professor Snape. He returns tonight, and he is your head of house, but I see no reason to notify any of the other teachers, as yet. Besides that, I don't see why anything else would have to change."  
  
Dumbledore could have been speaking about the weather for all his tone showed. It still amazed Draco to this day how he could discuss even the darkest of situations with such ease.  
  
He sat in his bed, fully expecting Dumbledore to continue with his lecture. When nothing happened, Draco began to get impatient, and a bit surprised. Was that it?  
  
Dumbledore pushed himself out of the chair and headed for the door, giving a faint gentle smile to Draco as he did so. McGonagall followed suit.  
  
"Remember Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore had turned to face Draco again, peering through the small hole that served as the doorway between Draco's bed and the rest of the hospital wing. "If there is anything at all that you wish to tell me, please do not hesitate to come and see me. When you have made your decision, please speak to me." With that, he walked out of the hospital wing, McGonagall in tow.  
  
What was that all about?  
  
Draco sat in his infirmary bed, letting the entire conversation replay through his mind for the third time. He didn't know what to think. It wasn't everyday that you learned that your world had been turned upside down, and your biggest fears brought out in the open. Was this what it was like to be Potter?  
  
He snorted with disgust. The last person he wanted to think about right now was Potter. Draco had enough problems of his own, without thinking about someone else's.  
  
He was a bit angry with Dumbledore as well. How could the man take Draco's change so lightly? It didn't matter that he was now a werewolf. It was always 'Dark Lord' this, and 'reign of terror' that. He could imagine Dumbledore now.  
  
So, Mr. Malfoy, you're now a werewolf, one of the most feared and hated creatures on the planet, and Voldemort is trying to overthrow the wizarding world again. Hope this doesn't inconvenience you. And, oh yeah, you still have to go to classes. Good luck with the N.E.W.T.S.  
  
Draco sighed deeply, and leaned back against the pillows, letting them take his full weight. It seemed to relax his mind as well as his body. He hadn't even noticed how tense he had been during the entire conversation. Right now, all he wanted to do was sleep, but even as he thought this, he knew sleep was impossible. Instead, he looked around for some sort of distraction.  
  
A mound of sweets and cards sat on his bedside table. He hadn't noticed it before. And beside it.My wand! He picked it up, almost lovingly, and swished it around just for good measure. How had his wand, lost somewhere in the Forbidden forest, ended up on his bedside table? He'd have to ask Pomphrey later. He placed the wand carefully back down on the table, and examined the other items piled around him.  
  
There was a particularly horrifying card that shot glitter at the viewer every time it was opened. It practically exploded! He coughed and squinted through the glitter that still hung in the air, waving an arm to clear it away. A layer of the shiny party material settled over HIM, his hospital bed, and just about everything else in a five foot vicinity. And that stuff just doesn't come out! He was still covered in glitter by the time he was able to actually read the thing.  
  
"What was she thinking?" He turned the card over once more, and hastily set it back on his bedside table.  
  
Of course, it was from Pansy. Only she would send something that tacky. Now if he could only get her to leave him alone. She insisted on hanging around him, practically ON him, at all times, and he was having trouble keeping the disgusted look from his face when she entered his vicinity. It's not that he completely hated her. In fact, she was really nice to have around when a guy needed a boost to the ego. She could be cunning, when she actually put forth a little effort, and she did rather well with her school work. It was obvious why she was a Slytherin. But there's only so much that a man could take, and Draco was reaching his limit.  
  
Draco lapsed into silence, with absolutely nothing to occupy his mind but his own thoughts.  
  
He didn't know what he was going to do, which was the scariest part of all. He knew what was expected of him. His father, if blessed with the knowledge of his condition, as he liked to refer to it, would expect Draco to rush to the Dark Lord's side, and grovel at his feet. Draco had too much pride to do that. He'd be the first to admit that he was stubborn. He smirked to himself. Since when did sins like pride and stubbornness become virtues? It seems as if they would be his only saving grace.  
  
Draco tried to rub some of the glitter away from his eyes. He didn't exactly understand what Dumbledore had meant when he had said that the Dark Creatures were being called, but he wasn't going to admit that in front of McGonagall. It was all very confusing, physical pulls, school wards, and the technical aspects of it. He'd just have to find some time to look in the library. They had left so many unanswered questions, many of them that he hadn't even begun to formulate.  
  
And what was that whole "Not even Voldemort has the power that you now hold" stuff? What power? The power to scare women and children? The power to change into a hideous monster three nights a month? Dumbledore was off his rocker. He was probably spouting off nonsense just to keep him thinking. But that didn't make sense either, did it? What motives does that crazy old codger have?  
  
As much as Draco didn't like to admit it, he had begun to form a small amount of respect for the old man. Sure, he might be crazy, or maybe simply eccentric, but he could seemingly handle any situation thrown at him, and that was something Draco admired in anyone. Ingenuity, courage in the face of defeat, ability to improvise; these were all good skills. Even Potter had these attributes, although he was in a state of self denial about that one. Did Draco? Did he have the same ability to handle whatever crossed his path without curling into a fetal position and crying? He certainly hoped so, or else it would become an extremely embarrassing situation, to say the least. He had never been tested, not really, and he had begun to doubt himself.  
  
Groaning, Draco leaned forward in his bed, and pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes.  
  
Within the past year, Voldemort's power had steadily risen, and Lucius' pressure upon Draco had risen as well. He had been born to become a Deatheater, raised in the knowledge that he too would one day take his place at the Dark Lord's side. So why was it so hard? So far, he had made excuses. He had avoided joining the Deatheaters for as long as possible. Lucius knew what he was doing. He had already threatened to cut him off from the family fortune, not to mention the unseemly curses that had been flung across the dining room at meal times. His agility really was improving, thanks to these unwanted "training sessions", as he liked to refer to them. Draco wasn't evil, nor was he a Deatheater, but he certainly wasn't Harry Potter, the white knight of the wizarding world. He was stuck somewhere in the middle.  
  
The whole werewolf thing had been steadily pushing itself back into his mind for the past hour. He had been avoiding it. Maybe if he didn't think about it, the awful truth would keep itself hidden. It would remain another forgotten memory. But Draco knew, as soon as the words formed themselves in his mind, that he couldn't run from his problems, however cliché that sounded. He couldn't lock them in a vault in Gringott's and toss the key in the depths of the ocean. It was never that simple, not for him.  
  
He had once actually been interested in the subject, but it had lost some of its charm when he found out that his former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had been one. Werewolves did not lead exciting lives, as he had once thought. Instead, they wore shabby, patched robes and had to rely on the pity of former headmasters to give them a job. They aged beyond their years and lived for the rest of their days as social exiles, and for what reward? To die in a pauper's grave, alone and forgotten by the rest of the world.  
  
Draco shivered, and pulled the covers onto his shoulders in a protective way. That's the last thing he wanted, to grow old early. His vanity was one of his weakest points, besides pride, he knew that much about himself. He didn't want to be a failure, not when he had spent his entire life to prove otherwise. His father pushed him.  
  
A memory came back to him, one when he had just returned from Hogwarts in his first year, only to reveal to his father that he had only the second highest grades in his class, and not the first.  
  
The incident occurred in his father's office. He had walked in briskly, happy that he had received top marks in every subject. His father had been behind his desk, writing a letter with his eagle feather quill.  
  
*~*~flashback~*~*  
  
Lucius Malfoy glanced up as his one and only son entered with parchment in hand. He had a bounce in his step that usually wasn't there, and a small smile seemed to tug at the corners of his mouth. None of these details went undetected by the older Malfoy, although he showed no sign of noticing.  
  
Draco presented the sheet to his father.  
  
"What's this?" he said disinterestedly, setting down his quill and accepting the parchment. He did not look at it.  
  
"My school report for the year." Draco beamed at his father.  
  
"Is this supposed to impress me?" he said in the same cold and detached voice.  
  
Draco's smile faltered. He shifted uneasily. "If you look, you'll notice that I-"  
  
He locked eyes with his son. "What were you doing the whole time?" he said in a deadly whisper. Malfoy leaned in closer. "How could you let a revolting mudblood outdistance you, of all students?"  
  
Draco had been shocked. There was no other word to describe it. His mouth fell open slightly, but he dared not speak. He didn't understand. Shouldn't his father be proud of him?  
  
Lucius Malfoy arose from his chair. He towered over the boy. His eyes narrowed as he gripped the edge of his desk. "You're a pureblood!" he hissed, gesticulating angrily with his hands. "You are better than her, so why is it that she seems to surpass you in nearly every grade?! You're being lazy..."  
  
He walked from behind his desk and closed the gap between himself and Draco, ignoring the crestfallen look on Draco's face, and took the boy's chin in hand. He peered into his son's gray eyes once more, so similar to his own, yet so very different. "How can you become an heir to a fortune, how can you serve the Dark Lord when a MUDBLOOD has better academic qualifications that you?!" He appeared to be disappointed, but mainly disgusted, as if the mere presence of Draco made him sick to his stomach. "Get out of my sight." He waved a hand in dismissal.  
  
It hadn't helped the situation when Draco had astutely pointed out that his potions grade was in fact the highest in his year, and that Hermione Granger had not only beaten him but the rest of the student body as well.  
  
His father had been seething in anger, one of the few times when he had allowed his emotions to overtake his composure. He had rarely seen his father so angry, and had barely walked out of the room alive half an hour later. Well, maybe 'walked' is the wrong word to use. More like 'dragged.' Draco had been in bed for days, recovering from the aftereffects of his father's anger. And to be even more malicious, his father had refused him medical attention. According to him, it had built character.  
  
Lucius Malfoy had never raised a hand to strike at his son in anger. Instead, he preferred to use curses to discipline his child. In this way, Draco could learn from his mistakes. Literally.  
  
Draco closed his eyes tightly, and tried to block out the voices that came with that horrible memory. It did no good to relive the past.  
  
He could prove his worth. He had just as much intelligence as the mudblood, and he could match flying skills with Potter any day, given the time and a superb, top of the line racing broom. He was not just some spoiled rich brat. OK, maybe he was a bit, but he was getting better. It's just so hard sometimes when one is so roguishly handsome.  
  
He had brains as well as physical skill, and he'd be damned if he was going to let anything as stupid as werewolfism change his life. You know what? Lucius could go to Hell for all he cared. That cold hearted, conceited, selfish, arrogant, unforgiving man deserved everything he got there. And - dare he even think his name in such a context? - Voldemort be damned as well! He already was, if you thought about it.  
  
Just thinking of the Dark Lord's future suffering brought a malicious smile to Draco's lips. He had his own life to think of. He was tired of living his life for other people. Professor Snape had always told him that he was smart enough to make his own way without the help of others. That's exactly what he would have to do.  
  
His eyes widened at the sudden realization. Professor Snape! He's a Deatheater! And Dumbledore is going to tell Snape about his condition! Would Snape tell Voldemort? Of course he would! He was a loyal Deatheater, just like his father. In fact, they were best friends. It was only a matter of time before the both of them found out. He just had to tell Dumbledore about Snape. If he was going to start trusting Dumbledore, then maybe he should repay him a bit for that kindness. And Dumbledore did say that he would wait to tell anybody until Draco had made his decision, right? Thank God Snape would be gone until late tonight. He would be able to get to Dumbledore before any vital information about his werewolfism could leak out to prying ears.  
  
Draco glanced at his watch, and his eyes widened when he realized how much time had passed.  
  
Madame Pomphrey bustled in, carrying a glass vial in hand. Draco eyed it apprehensively, and crossed his arms over his chest, looking just like the uncooperative patient that he planned to be. Why did she always have to be so cheerful? You would think that someone who was surrounded by potions burns and boil growing hexes all day would have enough sense to realize how people (well, Draco at least) found her attitude insufferable. Sometimes it was nice to wallow in self-pity, and Draco had thoroughly enjoyed his wallowing before it had been so rudely interrupted.  
  
"Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy. I trust that you are feeling better," said Madame Pomphrey, looking exactly like Christmas day had arrived early that year. He glowered as she took his temperature and listened to his heart beat. His eyes flicked to the door. It was so tempting. Just one shove and she'd be on the ground. He could make a dash for it, he was faster than the mediwitch. He promised himself to make a run for it as soon as possible.  
  
Sensing his foul mood, Pomphrey decided to increase her cheery disposition tenfold instead. She flashed her pearly white teeth in a brilliant smile.  
  
With a start, he realized something, and voiced his thoughts.  
  
"Hold on, how long have I been here?"  
  
"Two weeks," she said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.  
  
"Two weeks?!" he squeaked. His voice had risen several octaves.  
  
"Oh yes, perfectly natural. You can't expect someone to be up and running about after such a horrible ordeal, now can you?"  
  
"But what about school work? My friends, teachers, don't you think that someone would have missed me after a little while?"  
  
"Oh, don't worry dear. Everything has been taken care of. Are you in any pain?"  
  
Draco didn't reply. All he could do was glower at the overly-cheery nurse.  
  
"Everything seems to be OK." A small sense of worry crept into her eyes, although her mouth was still smiling. What was that emotion hidden behind her eyes? Sympathy?  
  
"I'm sure that you have many unanswered questions about your condition, but I will tell you all I can in the morning. Right now, the best thing for you is rest. Lots of rest, to be exact. Now if you don't mind, please take this potion. It will help you sleep."  
  
It was evidently a dreamless sleep potion. He was about to protest, but her unyielding attitude halted any comments he was about to make. He nodded, and reluctantly drank the potion, grimacing at the taste. She took the phial and walked back to her desk to make a few notes.  
  
Draco sunk into the mattress, the full effects of the potion already starting to take effect. The stress of the past few days was finally catching up to him, and all he wanted to do was sleep for a week. Brooding and wallowing in self-pity certainly took a lot out of a guy. He closed his eyes, and thought no more.  
  
Reviews Answered: Please review my story! It's really exciting to see a review, my heart just swells up into my throat when I get to read one. This is my first fic by the way, so I guess how this one goes determines how much I write. A cookie to all of you who reviewed.  
  
Seashore: Thanks so much for the suggestion. I understand that Draco would not normally be that brave a person. All I can say is that something happened the year before that has not been revealed yet.Please don't hurt me! I promise all will be answered in time. But honestly, I love those kinds of reviews, I'm completely open to them.  
  
Lil' Slayer: Yay!! You read my story and you really liked it! I'm so happy. Thanks for the praise, I completely love it. I can't wait for the rest of your story to come out, I hate that you left a cliffhanger. But of course, it keeps me coming back for more. I just can't stop.  
  
Kaylyn: Great! I'm glad you like it. I've enjoyed writing it so far  
  
AN: Well, what do you think? Any questions? Problems? Suggestions? I know it was long, but it had to be done, it was just really hard to break up. I promise the next chapter will have more action. I don't have a Beta reader, so I chalk up any mistakes in grammar to late night drowsiness.  
  
NEXT CHAPTER: A Potions Disaster  
  
Draco goes to school, Gryffindors are fools, Snape gets mad, there's trouble to be had, and caution is the rule. 


	3. A Potions Disaster

Disclaimer: It's not mine, I promise! JKR owns all of it, and I can assure you that it's a very lucrative business. But if you still wanted to shower me with money and gifts just for my talent, or lack thereof, go ahead!  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
Sorry it's been so long since my last update, but I have a really good excuse. To any of you users who like to download music (*cough* illegally *cough), let me tell you that it can come back and bite you in the ass. The programs can anyway. To make a long story short, Kazaa deleted my entire computer operating system, which also deleted this story and ALL of the work that I had put into it. And lucky me, I didn't have an updated copy. So there you go. After a couple weeks of sulking and complaining, I finally kicked myself back into gear and wrote a bit.  
  
A lot of this was written/ thought out before OOtP, so I hope I can keep it correct. If you guys see any mishaps, please feel free to correct me.  
  
If anyone has tried to send me an owl, I'm sorry about that too. I have no idea why it won't work. It says I need an activation code, which I have and have tried to use. It keeps coming up with an error. So if anyone wants me to email them with chapter alerts, could you just send me your email? I'll try to get this fixed, I promise. I'm the technology generation! Why am I having so much trouble? OK, enough of this. Please read on, I'd love to hear your thoughts afterwards. Is the pace too slow? Too much detail? Should I speed it up and bit? What about Draco, do you think he is OOC or doing OK. And is Snape too cliché? Just a couple of things to think about; I have plans for Snape in the future. So on with the story!  
  
Chapter 3: A Potions Disaster  
  
"OK, get a hold of yourself. Take slow deep breaths."  
  
Draco walked through the corridors of Hogwarts, his senses flooding and nearly sending him reeling against the walls. His head ached, mostly from the amount of noise coming to his now delicate ears. Madame Pomphrey had given him a sense-deadening potion earlier this morning, just to help with the transition, but it had begun to wear off. Now, as he walked through the halls, it took every ounce of his willpower to keep his hands from clamping over his ears. He stifled a groan, and walked briskly towards the dungeons.  
  
Thoughts of Lucius and Voldemort were still very clear in his head, but Draco didn't feel nearly as confident as he had the night before. He had been in a hospital bed, protected from the outside world. Now, a sense of vulnerability seemed to be seeping through his pores, straight into his very soul. Thinking Voldemort's name and actually saying it out loud were two totally different things. Draco scowled. He didn't like that feeling, not one bit. He knew what he ought to do, but he was still unclear as to how to go about his purposes. He wasn't going to be anybody's lapdog, that was certain, but was he brave enough to stand up against two of the most powerful men in the wizarding world? Undoubtedly, he had some thinking to do.  
  
Pomphrey had given him some basic information about werewolfism. Of course, she warned him against silver, and spoke of how his senses would begin to enhance. Even after she mentioned this, he hadn't been prepared for the cacophony of sounds that reached his ears when he stepped into the Great Hall for morning breakfast. To make matters worse, his shoulder still ached from the assault of two weeks ago. The scars, apparently, couldn't be mended because of its magical qualities, and Draco would wear them for the rest of his life. He just had to be careful in the shower or in his dorm room. If someone saw those bite marks, then it was a sure bet that questions would be raised.  
  
His first class of the day was Double Potions with the Gryffindors. Dumbledore pairs the two houses together on purpose, he thought wryly. I think he actually enjoys it.  
  
Considering how Snape was one of the only teachers in the school capable of handling the two houses at once, that meant that potions would forever be with the Gryffindors. That had always been a shame, seeing as how that was his favorite class. Draco turned another corner, which opened to a thankfully empty hallway.  
  
He smirked to himself. He definitely needed something to cheer him up, and what better way to do so than by watching his favorite teacher humiliate his least favorite person? Now if I could only prevent another firecracker from landing in my cauldron, the lesson might turn out right, he thought grimly.  
  
Draco walked into the dungeon classroom, taking in the sights and sounds as if it were for the first time. He paused in the doorway. It was amazing how his sense of smell had been affected too. It was like walking into a perfume shop. He could even distinguish among the smells. Each smell had a label in his mind: Bat wings, dragon scales, leech juice, it really was quite overwhelming. He could have stood there all day, letting the smells wash over him.  
  
"Move it Malfoy!"  
  
Something bumped against his back shoulder, sending him stumbling to his right. He caught a glimpse of red hair, and the strange scent of cedar and earth drifted towards him. Ugh. Eua de Weasley.  
  
Seeing as how it was now too late to insult Weasley, he scanned the seats and let his eyes settle on the two familiar hulking figures in the first row, directly in front of the blackboard. Potter and Granger came in moments later, but Draco had already taken his usual seat beside Crabbe and Goyle. He did his best to breathe only through his mouth around the two goons, but it was becoming a challenge, especially with potions fumes wafting around the room. He'd come across rotting bodies that were less offensive. Check. Buy bodyguards new cologne/soap for Christmas.  
  
He leaned back into his chair, remembering the nearly disastrous events of this morning.  
  
When he had arrived for breakfast that morning, he had been ravenous. Pomphrey had tried to keep him an extra day, but he had flat out refused. Rumors were already starting to spread around school about his disappearance, and the last thing he wanted was to be caught on his first day back.  
  
Crabbe and Goyle had accepted his flimsy excuse easily, as did most of the other Slytherins. Apparently, he had come down with the same flu as Madame Hooch, and had therefore been quarantined to prevent any further outbreak among the student population. Crabbe and Goyle had even sent him a get well card, though they had spelled their names wrong when signing it.  
  
Blaise Zabini, one of his best friends, hadn't been as easily fooled. He had tried to see Draco almost everyday when he had been in the hospital wing, and had thought it strange that Draco couldn't have any visitors. Hadn't Draco been quarantined by magic anyway? It wouldn't have harmed anyone to come in to talk. Of course, he had been ecstatic when Draco had showed up for breakfast that morning, but it was clear that he still had a bad feeling about the whole affair.  
  
Draco eyes narrowed as he remembered his first near miss. He had started to pick up the serving spoon, but had quickly brought his hand back, as if he had touched a hot stove. His sharp intake of breath turned several Slytherin heads around him, and they had looked at him with quizzical expressions.  
  
"It's hot," he had murmured. Ugh, how stupid can I get! Think of something quick!  
  
He continued, this time, a little bolder and with more force. "Stupid house elves, can't even serve a damn dish without trying to kill off one of the students. Just wait till I tell my father," he had snarled.  
  
Those around him seemed to accept the explanation for his sudden outburst, although Blaise did send him a weird look.  
  
They even didn't mind when he yelled to be served on gold plates instead of silver, which were normally reserved for holidays and special occasions. After all, why should it matter if Draco demanded better serving utensils, even after more than six years of eating on silver? He was always demanding something, and this was nothing new.  
  
How could I have been so stupid? He looked angrily at the palm of his hand, which now had a large white imprint left by the serving spoon. It had been made of silver. He had completely forgotten about that important fact of information, and he was now paying for it. His hand burned as if he were passing it over an open flame. This made it extremely difficult to hold a quill, he might add.  
  
Draco sighed and closed his eyes as he leaned back further in his chair. He'd have to go see Pomphrey about this after class. That was highly embarrassing, considering how she had warned him about silver not an hour before breakfast. He had been forced to eat breakfast with his robes pulled down around his hands, as to avoid contact with anymore silver. Draco had been greatly relieved when two house elves had run to the Slytherin table, carrying a gold plate and full set of utensils for his use. Of course, to show his gratitude, he had gratefully kicked one in the seat of its pants. Who knew house elves bounced that much? He was having a bad day anyway.  
  
Luckily, his appetite hadn't been hindered by any of these occurrences. Talk had drifted at the Slytherin table, and Draco had begun to pile meat upon his plate, rivaling even the mounds of Crabbe and Goyle. They had both stared at him with mute fascination, identical blank looks on their faces. He could have guessed what they were thinking. Probably thought he had started an eating contest without telling them. To confirm his suspicions, both boys began to pile even more food onto their plates.  
  
"Hungry?" asked Crabbe.  
  
Draco had always eaten sparingly. Most thought that he was too vain to risk putting on a few extra pounds. In reality, Crabbe and Goyle ate everything at the table, and it was hard not to lose your appetite when two elephants were drooling and fighting over the food right in front of you.  
  
"Your keen observation is astounding, as always Crabbe," he said icily, voice dripping with sarcasm between bites of bacon. "Please, you must tell me, have you been taking extra classes behind our backs? Perhaps Obvious Statements 101?" He was in no mood for their stupidity today. His insults just weren't up to par either, probably due to the pounding headache centered in his forehead.  
  
Crabbe had looked confused for a moment, but then gave a dumb laugh in response, apparently completely oblivious to the insult that had just been directed towards him.  
  
"You know I take all the same classes as you Draco. I don't think I signed up for any new classes." Crabbe had sat at the table, with a look of deep concentration. Draco could almost see the cogs of his mind slowly turning. Looks like they needed some oil.  
  
"Maybe I did," Crabbe had finally murmured, the same confused look still in place.  
  
Goyle, helpful as always, had quickly come into the conversation. "Yeah, I think it's like a Muggle Studies class, you had better drop it. It might be too late though." Draco had been slightly surprised. A complex sentence from Goyle? That was something to write down for posterity.  
  
"It doesn't matter," Draco had finally relented. "Just eat your porridge."  
  
"I don't like porridge," said Crabbe, eyeing his bowl. "It's too hard to eat."  
  
"I expect you can't get it to stay on your fork, can you? I suggest using a spoon instead."  
  
He had eaten the rest of his breakfast in silence, while trying to ignore the wails from Crabbe as he bemoaned Muggle Studies and his inability to now drop the new class. That, and now both Crabbe and Goyle were now attempting to eat their soupy porridge without the aid of any eating utensils whatsoever. Next time he would introduce chopsticks, and see if they made any headway with those. Sometimes.  
  
Sighing, he raised his eyebrows slightly, thinking back to that incident. At least he didn't have to worry about those two buffoons finding out about his secret. He could have hung a sign around his neck and enchanted it to glow and shriek "Draco Malfoy is a werewolf!" and they still would have been confused. Those two were as porous as diamonds.  
  
The door slammed behind him, and he almost fell out of his chair, arms and legs flailing, as the deafening noise hit his ears. Draco felt just as ridiculous as he was sure he looked. He heard snickering in the background, but chose to ignore it. He'd have to work to get used to that. And maybe he wouldn't lean back in his chair that far anymore. He quickly changed his startled expression to one of complete detachment.  
  
Robes billowing behind him, eyes narrowed, and a frown set on his waxen features, Professor Snape walked towards the front of the room. He walked down the aisle, glaring at the entire room, although saving his best for the Gryffindor side. It really was a dramatic entrance. Draco briefly wondered if Snape charmed his robes to billow in that fashion.  
  
He began to write potions ingredients on the board. The scratch of the chalk grated against Draco's ears, and made him grit his teeth in turn. Scratching quills around him didn't help either. He spent the rest of the lesson in much the same way, trying to block out the whispering from the other side of the room. Was Snape deaf? It sounded like they were practically shouting!  
  
"And if any of you spill so much as one teaspoon of your potion's ingredients, you will be having detention." Snape paused and narrowed his eyes, letting the words sink in. "With me," he sneered at last. "Longbottom, I expect you here at 8 p.m. sharp."  
  
Neville let out a squeak of terror.  
  
"What was that Mr. Longbottom?"  
  
Neville worked his mouth wordlessly, but eventually settled on another squeak as his only answer.  
  
"Hmm. Considering how Mr. Longbottom has lost his, admittedly limited, vocal capacities, we will continue with the lesson." He turned back to the board. The Gryffindors were furious, but they dared not make a sound, while the Slytherins merely snickered.  
  
Class carried on in much the same fashion. Students continued to work on their potions, with only a few minor mishaps; Neville managed to melt another cauldron, not that this was new. Draco briefly thought about investing in cauldrons. With the way Longbottom went through them, he'd be seeing profits within a week!  
  
Another of the Gryffindors caused a short disturbance. About halfway through the period, Lavender Brown had practically jumped up on the table, shrieking insanely about a rat on the dungeon floor. It took at least another ten minutes to get the class back in order, since most of the female population of the class had ended up on a desk or stool. Snape hadn't been happy.  
  
"If you'll kindly refrain from another outburst Ms. Brown, I would like to continue this lesson."  
  
Lavender now had two feet firmly planted on the ground, although she still seemed a bit pale. "Sir, there was a rat. A huge, ugly, disease-infested- "  
  
"I am quite familiar with the nature of rodents, Ms. Brown. I would also like to call your attention to the fact that this is a dungeon, and that such creatures are quite common."  
  
Lavender flushed, and muttered a short apology. She turned back to her cauldron, but continued to glance at the floor every few seconds for any other stray creatures lurking in the shadows.  
  
And then two voices caught his attention. They were coming from the very back of the room. Draco stirred his potion and glanced behind him. Potty and Weasel, he should have guessed. They had their heads together, whispering as quietly as possible while appearing to work. Weasley haphazardly threw a frog spleen into the potion, which caused it to turn a sickening green color. Potter stirred, mindless of the color change.  
  
Draco couldn't help but sneer at their sheer stupidity. It was plainly written on the board that frog's spleen was to be added after the potion came to a boil. He looked back to his own, which was red-orange in shade, exactly as it should be. His ears twitched, picking up more of the whispered words from across the room. The conversation was getting interesting.  
  
"Are you sure you don't mind? If we get caught, we're risking a week's worth of detention with Filch. That's what? Scrubbing bed pans with a tooth brush, polishing the kitchen silverware.  
  
"Oiling rusty manacles, cleaning bloodstains off the dungeon walls."  
  
"I'm serious Ron!" hissed Harry.  
  
"So was I," said Ron vehemently, although a little too loudly to be considered a whisper. He quickly checked Snape's location, but turned back when the greasy Potions professor was out of range.  
  
Harry began again, but in a much lower volume. He leaned in closer to his friend, dark brows furrowed slightly.  
  
"I've got to get it soon, Ron. It's already been down there for a week! What if it somehow gets damaged? I could never forgive myself."  
  
"But how could it get damaged? No one even knows where the secret passage is. That's why they call it secret you know."  
  
"Ever heard of condensation Ron? Mildew, mold? It could all be lying on my cloak and the map as we speak! They're the only things I've got that belonged to my Dad," murmured Harry, looking a bit dejected.  
  
The redhead looked skeptical, but, not wanting to anger his best friend, went on in a relaxed voice. "Remind me again why you can't just use the map as a look out instead of me?"  
  
"IlentittoGinny," he mumbled in a hurried whisper, stirring the cauldron forcefully.  
  
"What mate? Couldn't quite hear that. Could you speak up a bit?"  
  
"I lent it to Ginny," said Harry, going faintly red. He turned his face back to their potion. "She's pulling a prank, and needed a bit of help."  
  
"When were you thinking of doing it?"  
  
"Wednesday, around midnight." Ron nodded and chewed thoughtfully on his lip, then began to sort through his cockroach wings.  
  
A silence followed. Draco was very interested at this point, although he kept his eyes riveted to the front of the room, even if he really wanted to see the Weasel's reaction to the news. What map? And what kind of cloak? What were they plotting this time, and how could he ruin it? He committed the time to memory, and promised himself that the Gryffindorks would have company.  
  
He had matured since first year. He wasn't about to run off and tell a professor, but what true Slytherin would pass up a perfectly good chance to humiliate and utterly destroy a Gryffindor?  
  
"But Harry, you can't go back to it now," said Ron finally, speaking out of the side of his mouth. Common sense had won over his sense of adventure. That, and he didn't want to scrub bed pans anymore. "If Snape sees you prowling around there again, I don't even want to think about what will happen. It seems like every time you try to make a move, Snape is right behind your back, in all his greasy glory."  
  
"Ahem."  
  
Ron, Harry, and Draco all turned, only to find that had Snape quietly slithered behind the two Gryffindors, and was now listening to them intently with an icy glare. An evil smile fixed itself upon his face, and Draco was glad that he wasn't on the receiving end.  
  
"Indeed. Would you to be so kind to share the topic of your conversation with the rest of the class? It's obviously much more interesting than this potions lesson, seeing as how your attention seems to be riveted upon your conversation and not your cauldron.  
  
Snape walked towards the cauldron, a look of disgust clearly written upon his face.  
  
"And look, this potion appears to be green. Are you two colorblind as well? Maybe doing more than one thing at a time is simply too hard for a pair of ignorant Gryffindors such as yourselves? It seems that brawn over brains would be a proper assessment of your skills, wouldn't you agree?"  
  
Snape again stared between the two, lip curling with distaste, while each boy looked extremely nervous and fidgeted slightly. Harry became extremely interested in his hands, which were clutched in front of him. Ron was merely staring at the floor.  
  
Draco smiled, glad that his potions lesson was becoming a bit more interesting. Watching those two in various states of helplessness always brought Draco out of even his worst moods.  
  
"I'm glad to see you're not letting your education get in the way of your ignorance. Ten points from Gryffindor, each, for being dim-witted imbeciles. Maybe you should ask Longbottom for some help." Snape carefully enunciated every word, intent on making the conversation become as long as possible. He too enjoyed their nervousness, that much was evident.  
  
Neville had sunk low in his chair, eyes wide with fear, trying to hide from view. The terrified boy practically whimpered when Snape shot him a contemptuous look. Snape, satisfied that Neville was close to tears, turned back to the teenagers before him.  
  
The two boys both gulped, and mumbled something unintelligible. They quickly turned back to their cauldron and hastily added more ingredients, trying vainly to return the now useless potion to its proper color.  
  
If Snape could have skipped back to his desk, Draco knew he would have. Draco turned his eyes back to Harry and Ron who were still feverishly working, intent on joining in on the fun.  
  
"Hey Weasley, Potter" he hissed at them, barely loud enough to attract the attention of the two Gryffindors. "Try this, it might help you practice."  
  
Draco rubbed his stomach and patted his head at the same time, smiling nastily as he did so. Ron and Harry were fuming and eyeing him with severe dislike. They kept quiet though. They didn't want to catch Snape's attention again. He laughed under his breath, and went back to stirring his potion.  
  
He heard it coming long before he saw it. A slight whistling noise reached his ears; he could almost feel the vibrations coming from whatever was making the noise. He ducked his head to the right instinctively, moving so fast that the colors around the room became an instant blur. Draco barely registered the fact that a handful of rat's intestines had just nearly hit the back of his head. In that same movement, he spun to his back and crouched near the ground, searching for whoever dared to assault him.  
  
His eyes fell upon Ron, who still had intestines juice dripping from his hand. An apprehensive looked crossed his face, and his eyebrows knit together in confusion. Draco realized that he was still crouched on the ground, snarling at Ron and baring his teeth at the other teenager. Harry too was looking at him, as if seeing him for the first time. Luckily, something else distracted the two boys.  
  
"AGHHHHH!!"  
  
A roar of rage came from the potions master, who looked livid with anger. His right eye twitched, and his mouth worked wordlessly. A vein throbbed at his temple, threatening to burst. Was Snape having an aneurism? Had he finally snapped after years of brainless students? He was plainly in some sort of distress.  
  
Draco immediately saw the reason for this distress when Snape turned to look for the culprit. The back of his head was now covered in rat intestines, and it was slowly dribbling down the back of his neck and seeping into his high-necked collar. If Snape didn't look like he was about to perform the Avada Kedrava curse, it would have been extremely funny. As it was, the entire classroom became silent.  
  
"Who. Threw. That?" he said menacingly.  
  
Snape was so furious that he could barely speak. His chest rose and fell rapidly, as if he had just run a sprint. He was almost shaking with anger. His searching eyes scanned the room, and then fell on Ron Weasley, hand still dripping, looking like he was about to faint. Then his eyes flashed to Harry Potter. Spittle flew from his mouth as he talked, and his coal black eyes glinted madly.  
  
"You two! 50 points! Detention ! AND GET OUT!" Snape roared the entire time, and looked as if he was about to burst.  
  
Draco quickly wondered if he should duck under the desk to avoid the flying pieces of Snape, as it looked inevitable that Snape's head would indeed explode. Instead, Draco sat calmly, if a bit apprehensively, at his desk, watching the entire scene unfold before his eyes. That is, until the wrath of Snape was directed toward the entire class.  
  
"Didn't you hear me?" he shouted, clenching and unclenching his bone white fists. "I SAID GET OUT!" Snape pointed towards the door, eyeing them dangerously.  
  
The scraping of chairs and desks filled the room, and a mad dash was made for the door. Everyone was trying to get out at once, still fearful that Snape might turn them all into flobberworms. Even Draco didn't waste time feigning indifference, and hurried out into the dark corridor with the rest of the pushing crowd.  
  
Well, Snape will definitely have to take a shower now, he thought to himself, eyes glinting in amusement. True, he did like the potions professor. He was Draco's favorite teacher, but that didn't mask the fact that Snape was undeniably greasy. And it wasn't everyday that you saw Snape nearly lose control. Moreover, the class had been released 20 minutes early, without homework!  
  
Even the thought of Snape being carted off in a straight jacket could only distract him for so long. He didn't know what to think about what he had done in the dungeons. Strange, he hadn't even known that he was snarling at them until he saw Weasley's face. It had just.happened. The rest of the class had been too busy watching Professor Snape to notice his strange antics. It must be some sort of side effect. Somehow, the lupine instincts were starting to merge themselves with his thought processes. That was certainly something to keep an eye on as well.  
  
Draco shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts, and ran up the dungeon steps to the hospital wing, hoping he could get his hand fixed before the start of Transfiguration in a half hour.  
  
What Draco didn't see was two figures standing in the dark shadows of a doorway, conversing in low tones. A pair of eyes followed his ascent as he ran up the stairs.  
  
"Bloody Hell! The man's gone nutters! How are we supposed to go back to get our detentions? He'll curse us the second we enter the room. Harry? Hey Harry, are you listening?" Ron waved his hand in front of Harry's eyes, just for good measure.  
  
Harry's head snapped back to face his friend Ron. He had been watching Draco, a thoughtful expression on his face.  
  
"Hmm? Oh, maybe we'll wait till he cools off a bit. I don't want to go back in there either," he replied offhandedly.  
  
"But did you see his face? It was priceless! He looked like someone just threw a jar of fleas down the back of his robes. Or, OK, a handful of rat's spleens at his head, but it was still great," said Ron cheerily. His eyes were wide, and a rapt expression of pleasure was on his face. He looked nothing like a boy who had almost been cursed off the face of the planet not minutes before.  
  
But Harry's heart wasn't into the conversation. He still stared at the stairs that Draco had run up not moments before. Draco's behavior in class had definitely been strange, even for his usual standards. No, it was something more than that. He had been different, somehow.  
  
Across the hall, a large rat with a silver paw scurried away from the potions dungeon.  
  
Author's Notes  
  
And there you go. Thanks so much to all of you who actually read this again. AND PLEASE REVIEW!!  
  
This has been my favorite chapter so far. It was nice to make Draco face some of his fears, even if they are some of his first steps. And the whole Snape encounter was just a fun thing to write. Don't ya'll just love that guy?  
  
And now to the reviews!  
  
Ice Lupus: Cool name! Sorry, had to comment. I'll try to post when I can. It just depends on if my muse decides to do a bit of work or not. Keep reading, I promise more exciting things to come!  
  
Luisia: Thanks! I solemnly swear that I will continue this story. And I'm always up to no good. ;)  
  
Black-Moodring: I'm really glad you liked Draco. I'm trying my best to keep everyone in character, so please tell me if someone seems a bit off color. And thanks for the encouragement. It helps a great deal.  
  
AnimegirlH: I'm not quite sure how I want other people to find out about Draco's condition, but it definitely will happen. Stay tuned though!  
  
Lil' Slayer: Yay! My fanfic buddy has returned! I hope your story is doing well. I noticed that it has been a while since you updated too, but who am I to comment when it took me this long, huh? As for the comic effect, I really do try! It's hard because I never know if the things that are funny to me will be funny to other people, so I just cross my fingers and hope for the best. What kind of words am I using that are different from the British style? I love to hear those little culture things, they're always fun to go back and examine. But I hope you can still get the basic gist of my story, even with the random spelling changes or different words. Good luck on your story! Can't wait to see more!  
  
Seashore: Hey! Nice to see you return. I've got lots of plans for my story. As for where it leads, I have a lot of directions that I could take it. I'm still kind of deciding. All I know right now is that it's going to be a pretty long story, so I hope you don't mind. And I'll try not to leave too many cliffhangers. Don't you hate it when the author leaves a cliffhanger then goes away for like 3 months? I can't stand it, and I'll try not to be a hypocrite about that either. *knocks on wood* I'm glad you liked the story, and I hope you return to read the next chapter. 


	4. Treading a Dangerous Path

Reviews answered at the end of the chapter. (Insert standard disclaimer) I own nothing, it's not mine. Don't sue me, I don't make money. This chapter is a PG-13, to be on the safe side, because there are some jokes or sexual innuendo that the younger crowd (considered what, like 10 and younger now?) might not understand. It's not blatant, I promise!! I'm just waiting for the angry mothers and their scathing reviews.. But please don't, I have a tendency to be violent, and I might set Draco on you.  
  
Chapter 4: Treading a Dangerous Path  
  
It was the day that wouldn't end. McGonagall had droned on forever during Transfiguration, as the students tried to turn wool sweaters into actual sheep. Not that they would ever find the use for such a skill, at least, none that could ever be mentioned in polite conversation.  
  
A pair of Ravenclaw boys to Draco's left were snickering to themselves the entire time, even under the vigilant glare of Professor McGonagall, Mistress of Death. She had paced the front on the class, wand in hand, smacking it against her palm, strangely reminiscent of a Nun holding a ruler. Normally, her steely gaze would have been enough to quiet even the bravest of Slytherins.  
  
He smiled to himself, remembering the moment. The pair had no doubt been discussing new found uses for their recently created sheep. He had vaguely overheard words like "zipper" and "kilt" from their conversation. Draco had no idea what they were talking about or what a zipper was, but he could guess if it had anything to do with sheep.  
  
He paused briefly to hitch his bag higher on his shoulder, and then continued walking towards the Hogwarts grounds. On any other day, Draco would have found this conversation extremely entertaining. But seeing as how it would appear on the N.E.W.T.S., as McGonagall had hinted, Draco had tried to fully concentrate on his sweater, blocking out the voices coming from the corner, which had been no easy task. In the end, his sheep still had a tartan pattern, but it's the thought that counts, right? Transfiguration was one of his worst subjects anyway. His bandaged hand had made his normally graceful wand movements look entirely too clumsy for his own liking. Luckily, McGonagall had been too busy shooting death glares at the Ravenclaws to notice his awkwardness.  
  
Draco was currently on his way to Care of Magical Creatures, with Crabbe and Goyle following closely behind him. In fact, they were almost stepping on his heels. He shot them an irritated glance, and they quickly backed off.  
  
The cool breeze felt wonderful against his skin. He inhaled deeply, fully enjoying the sensation. His breath made small puffs of smoke in the frigid afternoon air, and a slight fog hung over the grass, which was now covered in delicate icy crystals. Draco had yet to leave the castle until now, and it was refreshing to leave the stifling atmosphere of the classrooms.  
  
As the trio walked towards Hagrid's hut, Draco grew continually uneasy. It wasn't the type of feeling that he had felt earlier in the potions classroom. It was more of a sense of foreboding, like he was approaching something he distinctly disliked. He shook his head, trying his best to clear away those stray thoughts.  
  
Wait a minute! Did Hagrid know that Draco was a werewolf? Had he been informed? Hagrid had been the one to find him that night. It was kind of hard to miss, actually. How often do you find a bloody boy slumped against the front door in the middle of the night? I guess I'll find out.  
  
He paused and bent down to pick up a blade of grass, idly twirling it through his fingers as he walked. Thankfully, there was enough distance between his two bodyguards and himself that the two louts hadn't run straight into him. The grass, slightly icy despite the afternoon hour, crunched underfoot as he approached the paddock. A pungent smell was wafting through the air, one that Draco could not place. That is, unless it was a.  
  
"Porlocks!" roared Hagrid, who beamed at the students as they walked forward.  
  
Standing in the paddock, some silently munching, others walking upright, stood about a dozen small horse-like creatures. They were only three or four feet tall. Shaggy fur covered their entire bodies, with the exception of a large quantity of rough hair across their overlarge noses. They stood on two sharp hooves, although some were currently bent over the mounds of hay in the middle of the enclosure. Two stubby arms replaced the front legs, each with four small fingers protruding from the ends. It really was a rather strange sight.  
  
"Some of ye may be wondering why I've brought these fellers back, as we studied them in your 5th year," said Hagrid, waving a massive hand in the direction of the porlocks. "But I've got it from a good source that these 'ere beauties will be on your NEWT exams, and I thought it best if we 'ad a good review. You all know how to treat 'em, so gather 'round the fence and grab a sugar cube, and I'll remind you just in case." He grinned broadly to the awaiting class.  
  
"Now, these 'ere Porlocks are horse-protectors. Ye can find 'em in, err, Dorset and, err, parts of --" Hagrid stumbled over his words slightly, but his eyes lit suddenly. "Does anyone else know where you can find a porlock?" he asked, as if he actually knew the answer.  
  
Draco couldn't take it anymore. Information had always been Hagrid's weak point. It's not that he didn't know it; he just couldn't relate it to the students. It didn't help that Draco was low in the patience category either. How were they supposed to learn anything when your teacher had the IQ of the brutes he was teaching about? Draco mentally kicked himself for his own inability to get Hagrid sacked in his third year. Ever since, Hagrid had continued to act as the Care of Magical Creatures professor, much to the chagrin of Slytherin and Gryffindor alike. Might as well put him out of his misery before he puts us all to sleep.  
  
His father owned a number of Porlocks at the manor, which helped to protect the thoroughbreds at the Malfoy stables. Being fabulously wealthy did have its advantages, even if didn't help to get rid of a certain overgrown groundskeeper-turned-bumbling-professor.  
  
"I know Professor!" chimed in Hermione. "The Porlock, besides living in Dorset, also lives in-"  
  
"Parts of Southern Ireland," he cut in, making Hagrid look extremely uncomfortable and leaving Hermione fuming. He kept running his hands over his long, tangled beard, and seemed to clear his throat more than necessary.  
  
He smirked and crossed his arms defiantly as the Gryffindors scowled at his interruption. He was receiving a particularly nasty glare from Hermione, who looked like she wanted to walk right up to him and slap him again. Just let her try this time, he thought to himself, and shot her an equally fierce look.  
  
"Yeah, err, that's right, but I would prefer if you spoke in turn next time. Five points to Slytherin, and an extra point to Hermione as well." Hagrid paled a bit as he said those last words. It was clear that he would rather roast one of the Porlocks than give Slytherin points, even if Draco knew the information.  
  
"Now, as I was sayin', Porlocks are very docile animals, so ya have no need to fear 'em. The wild ones can be a might distrustful of humans, but these have been around 'em for all their lives, mostly for farms and the like. Just give 'em a sugar cube, and they'll let ya pet 'em as much as ye' like."  
  
Hagrid seemed a bit disappointed as he spoke. Apparently, there had been some discussion among the staff concerning Hagrid's taste for exotic, and mostly dangerous, magical creatures. He had attempted to bring griffins to the school last year, and even Dumbledore, who had given Hagrid free reign for several years, felt it was time to step in. It had been agreed that Hagrid would have to tone it down a bit, so to speak.  
  
Draco visibly shuddered as he remembered Hagrid's myriad of "pets". His own near-death experience with the hippogriff had left a lasting impression on him. And who could forget the Blast-Ended Skrewts? Much to the class's dismay, they had matured fully by the end of their fourth year, only to reach an astonishing six feet in length. Of course, it wasn't so bad when the things had attempted to fry Potter during the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Draco mused. Those things have their uses too.  
  
Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Pansy slowly inching her way to his side. He had snapped at her during breakfast, and since then, she had seemed slightly miffed and had maintained a small distance between the two of them. Her perfume was nauseating. He almost felt the need to hold his breath again, or at least breathe out of his mouth. He coughed slightly as the fumes seemed to catch in his throat. Don't make eye contact, Draco thought frantically. Don't make eye contact, that'll only encourage her.  
  
Just as Pansy began to approach Draco, another figure came up from behind.  
  
"Pansy!" said Blaise, smiling radiantly at the blonde. "I've been looking for you. Doesn't your father own porlocks?" he said, steering her towards the paddock.  
  
Pansy, sensing something amiss, eyed Blaise suspiciously. Blaise, talented actor that he was, continued to impress upon her just how interested he was in her father's stables, and wouldn't she please tell him about the derby that was held last month? Even if Pansy thought that something seemed strange, she still couldn't completely ignore the handsome boy talking to her. So she walked to the paddock, conversing with Blaise in a most frivolous way.  
  
He didn't believe that was luck for one second. To confirm his suspicions, he saw Blaise turn back when Pansy's back was turned, mouthing "You owe me one" in Draco's direction. Seeing this, Draco smiled and waved good luck to his friend. Only a real friend would take a bullet like that.  
  
Draco shifted his gaze, which settled upon Hagrid once more. He was now unlatching the gate and urging the students forward. Considering that the beasts did appear domesticated and tame, many students showed no qualms whatsoever when approaching the fence. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were all standing next to Hagrid. Each had a sugar cube in their outstretched palms, and was doing their best to entice one of the Porlocks.  
  
Draco slowly walked forward, brows knit together, frowning slightly. It was there again, that sinking feeling that something bad was about to happen. Call it a premonition, but he was decidedly cautious when he finally drew close to the Porlocks.  
  
The students were now entering the fenced in area, eager to feed the Porlocks the entire stock of sugar cubes. Even Pansy was excited. Hopefully, she'd be too preoccupied with them to bother Draco. He sighed gratefully. There was something about girls and horses; he would never figure it out.  
  
Unfortunately, the only spot left beside the fence was next to a group of giggling Gryffindor girls. They giggled even more as he approached, and whispered behind covered mouths to each other. Parvati Patil batted her eyelashes in what she must have thought was a very seductive way, and inched closer to him as he neared. Draco inwardly cringed. Weren't there any decent girls left at Hogwarts? Apparently, the house rivalries were overlooked sometimes when potential boyfriend material came into the hunting ground.  
  
Parvati, lioness that she was, circled her prey and settled on his left side, leaning suggestively against the fence. He was sure that her shirt was against school regulations, even if it was partially covered by her low- cut robes.  
  
"Draco," she purred. "It's been ages since I've spoken to you. We really should keep in touch more." She flipped her long dark hair over her shoulder and leaned forward, giving him a full view of all that she offered.  
  
He flashed her a disdainful look and then ignored her, intent on keeping the house rivalries as strong as ever. Sure, Parvati was easy, but after some of the stories he had heard in the common room, he wasn't sure if he even wanted to touch her with a ten foot pole. Who knows what she had?  
  
He smiled to himself. Parvati Patil was the village broomstick. Everyone had had a ride.  
  
Parvati, mistaking this smile for a form of greeting, continued in a way that Draco found repulsive. She was almost as bad as Pansy. But at least Pansy had a brain. Did she ever shut up? He briefly wondered how many points could be deducted for a banishing hex.  
  
"Like I was saying before Draco, I think we should put aside our differences and maybe play the field a bit, so to say?" Parvati pressed her body closer to his, and tried to sling an arm around his neck. She stared into his eyes, and he narrowed his own.  
  
Draco couldn't help but sneer. He knew for a fact that Dean Thomas had just broken up with her because he had caught her cheating with a Hufflepuff, of all people. I think you've played the field a bit already, he thought inwardly. In fact, I think you've gone into overtime. What happened to Crabbe and Goyle? They would have scared off this Gryffindor nymphomaniac in seconds.  
  
Not saying a word, he walked past her, and made his way towards the gate. He practically had to restrain himself from running in the other direction. Any distraction would do right now! Anything! For all that is blessed and holy, please save me from this blabbering simpleton! Maybe he could lose her if he pretended to show interest in the class. Annoyance was clearly showing on his face. Maybe she would take the hint.  
  
Regrettably, she was denser that he thought. Parvati followed him into the paddock, mindless of his expression. She continued to chatter away incessantly.  
  
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
Harry and Ron watched the entire scene with amusement. The pair had retreated to the far side of Hagrid's cabin, leaving Hermione to actually pay attention in Hagrid's class. They had completely forgotten the Porlocks. It wasn't everyday that you saw Draco Malfoy in such an uncomfortable position.  
  
"So, do you think he's gay or something?" Ron asked in an amused sort of way. He had crossed his arms over his chest, and grinned some more as he watched the scene unfold.  
  
"Nah," replied Harry, although he too was smiling, eyes glinting with laughter. "He just knows what every other boy in Hogwarts knows. It's disgusting; you practically have to beat her off with a stick!"  
  
Ron looked confused. He raised his eyebrows, and voiced his question, even if he wasn't sure that he wanted an answer.  
  
"What do you mean 'what every boy knows'?"  
  
Harry openly gaped at Ron. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, but this only confused the gawky red head more.  
  
"You mean, you mean you don't know?" He tried to force the laughter down, intent on not embarrassing his friend anymore than what was surely to come, but it opened like a flood gate, and before he knew it, Harry was laughing outright.  
  
"Know what Harry!? This is getting really frustrating you know." Ron's ears were starting to turn a shade of pink, which signaled to Harry that he better cut the laughter real soon.  
  
He wiped the tears from his eyes, and forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. Once he was able to control himself he said, with the slightest hint of amusement, "Well, Parvati is, err, promiscuous. You know, she gets around a lot. In fact, I think she's going for some school record or something. Everyone knows that Ron. It's common knowledge. Where have you been the past couple of years? Living with the Dursleys?"  
  
Now it was Ron's turn to be surprised. His entire face turned as red as his hair and his eyes widened to the size of saucers. Ron's eyebrows were threatening to rise off of his forehead and straight into his mop of red hair.  
  
"Hold on. Slow down. When did this start? Didn't you take her to the ball in 4th year?"  
  
"Yeah, but she didn't start messing around until at least 5th year. Lucky me, huh?" Harry raised his eyebrows slightly. Ron gave him a look that matched Harry's feeling of relief.  
  
"I'll say. Now what did you hear again?"  
  
Harry sighed. This would take a while.  
  
(30 minutes later)  
  
"You mean it? Three guys?! And Filch?! But that's impossible! And it's just not right! I think I might be sick." Ron had definitely turned a slight shade of green.  
  
"I'm just telling you what I heard. Besides, don't act all surprised anymore. Even Neville knew! You're just irked because she hasn't made an advance on you yet," said Harry laughingly.  
  
Harry yelped as Ron took a dive towards his friend. The next thing he knew, they were both sprawled out on the ground, laughing hysterically, each attempting to catch his breath. Ron clutched his side, as he tried to wipe away the grass stains that had magically appeared across his trousers with his other hand. Harry, glasses askew, robes in disarray, sat up and ran a hand through his wild dark hair. Although it was messy before, Harry's hair was now irreparably tousled. His green eyes danced with glee.  
  
Ron pushed himself to his feet, and stumbled a bit as he tried to catch his footing. Once stable, he gave Harry his hand, who was still trying to catch his breath, and pulled him to his feet as well.  
  
"Well that was interesting," said Ron, who had stopped to pick at a tuft of grass that had lodged itself between the hinges of Harry's glasses.  
  
"Yeah, you could say that. You know, I did say the word yet, which implies that she could still try to come on to you any day now."  
  
Ron looked slightly pleased at this response, but his look quickly turned to revulsion as he realized what that actually meant. He shot a disgusted look at Harry, who smiled back sweetly in return, the perfect picture of innocence.  
  
Harry glanced around him. The class was still deeply engrossed with the magical creatures. Luckily, they hadn't missed anything too important. Harry gestured to Ron, and they both walked back to the paddock.  
  
"She's still there! She's not giving up, is she?" Ron, who had been completely clueless moments earlier, now wondered why he hadn't seen it before. Parvati was practically throwing herself onto Draco, who was desperately trying to rid himself of her. Ron almost felt sorry for the poor guy. Well, almost.  
  
"Yeah, I mean, he looks like he wants to start bashing his head against a wall or something."  
  
"No, he wouldn't do that," said Ron, in his most serious tone. "It would mess up his hair." His face broke into a wide grin.  
  
Harry laughed again, and the two resumed their observations of the ill- fated Slytherin.  
  
******************************************************  
  
Draco had been trying for the last half hour to loose himself from the scantily clad nymphomaniac that threatened to follow his every move. He had walked around the entire fence a dozen times already, and still she wouldn't leave him alone. Sometimes, being incredibly handsome can be such a burden.  
  
Now what can I do to get rid of this idiot? As a last resort, Draco decided that he would rather try his luck with the Porlocks than listen to her for another minute longer. Maybe she would be afraid of getting something on her shoes? He could only hope.  
  
He approached one of the Porlocks cautiously, but instantly regretted it. This had been a bad idea. He just didn't feel comfortable around these creatures, and the feeling was mutual. The roan porlock in front of him backed away skittishly, eyes wide with fear as he stepped forward. It snorted at him and pawed the earth between its cloven hooves, steam rising from its nostrils in the crisp winter air.  
  
Draco backed away slowly, breath quickening, eyes locked to the creatures' every movement. It didn't like him, not one bit. Probably the wolf, he thought slowly, although he kept his attention riveted to the animal before him. Porlocks may be docile, but those cloven hooves could definitely do some damage.  
  
The scene that ensued would be forever imprinted on Draco's memory. He wasn't quite sure how it happened, but next thing he knew, he bad backed up onto Parvati's foot, which set him off balance. He threw his arms out in one last desperate hope to right himself, but his attempt was futile. Before he could stop himself, his full weight came crashing down with the unsuspecting (and now shrieking) girl landing on top of him. The pair pitched forward, straight into the Porlock's path.  
  
They hit the ground with a thud, groaning in unison at the unexpected impact. The Porlock was now stomping towards Draco's head, intent on smashing it into gelatinous goo. It threw its head back and gave a neigh of terror, eyes wild and rolling to the back of his head. Fear and shock showed on Draco's face, and he barely had enough time to shove Parvati and roll out of the way before sharp hooves drove themselves back against the ground.  
  
His elbows rubbed against the hard packed earth as he pushed himself to his feet amid a clatter of noise. A cloud of dust was materializing over the paddock. His mouth felt like sandpaper, and he dearly wanted a glass of water. Draco realized with a start that he had been holding his breath the whole time, and drew in a deep gulp of dusty air before glancing around again.  
  
Complete chaos had ensued. The other Porlocks, alerted by their brother's cry of warning, were now stampeding across the paddock, with nothing but escape on their minds. He could barely make out the forms of students rushing to and fro, jumping over the fence, trying to escape the rampaging Porlocks.  
  
Draco's breath quickened once more as he searched his immediate vicinity. Blood sang and pounded in his head. Where was she?  
  
Parvati Patil had somehow managed to scramble to the center of the paddock. Now, she stood frozen in place, hands to her mouth, and eyes as wild as those of the stampeding Porlocks. She was standing right in the middle of everything! Did she want to be trampled?! What a moron. Honestly! But why do I care in the first place? He was too busy to play twenty questions with his own conscience.  
  
With a grunt of frustration, Draco sprinted towards the frightened girl. His shoes smacked the ground as his heart thumped against his chest, threatening to explode any second. Time seemed to stand still. With one last burst of energy, Draco hurled himself towards Parvati. His body slammed against hers, knocking them both to the ground, right before the herd of panic-stricken beasts trampled the very spot where she was formerly standing. He dragged her to the side of the fence, and crouched down, pulling her closer to his body. A rush of hooves could be heard, and a cloud of dust surrounded the pair. He held her to his chest, eyes squeezed shut, chin down, and praying to whatever God existed that he would somehow survive the hour.  
  
AN: Well, comments? Suggestions? Sorry about the cliffhanger, but I just had to! The chapter would have been incredibly long, and it would have taken ages to get out ( I know, not that it didn't already) But I think I've gotten past my writers block, so it might pick up a bit. Thanks to all the faithful reviewers who've stood by me so far.  
  
Fic of the day! Please read Once Bitten, Twice Damned by Lil' Slayer. She's a great author, I promise. If you like Draco, and the supernatural (vampires, so cool and it makes for great material) and all that, then you'll love this story. Lots of action, with some D/Hr for those ship fans.  
  
REVIEWERS!!!  
  
Shania Maxwell: I'm so glad that you like this story, and I promise that you can expect some more chapters in the near future.  
  
Launigsiae: Wow, my spell check really doesn't like that name. Did I spell that right? Mind if I ask how you picked it? Here's another update, hope you like it.  
  
Lil' Slayer: Best friend! Old buddy!! Great to see you again. Notice the endorsement?? I thought if a couple more people started reading your fic, it would encourage you to write another chapter. No pressure though. (: It really is a great story, and should be read by more people. And thanks for the suggestions, I'll try and use them.  
  
Tiffany and Co.: Wow, I love getting such enthusiastic reviews!! It really makes me want to write more, especially when I have reviewers like you. So what do you think of the Voldemort/ werewolf thing? Do you think I've completely confused people? I'm trying a new plotline that I've never seen before. You know, trying to stay original and all that. But I promise that you'll get your answers eventually. Keep reading, keep reviewing. You're awesome!  
  
Kiristeen: Interesting position indeed. He's really messed up at the moment, isn't he? Which makes for a great story to tell!  
  
Kiskool: Does the Haha mean that it's funny? I certainly hope so! Thanks so much for the review.  
  
So, next chapter?? Any guesses on how this is going to end up. I'll wrap up the cliffhanger, and an old favorite will make an appearance. I've changed the story to give you what you asked, I hope you know this. So many people put in a request that I couldn't help but do it.  
  
What did you think of Draco/student interactions? Ron/Harry? Action scene with the porlocks? Was it convincing? Please help me! I need feedback to improve my writing. Also, any suggestions for the story? You never know, I'm always open to new ideas. 


	5. Shaky Ground

AN: For all of you who didn't like the "Parvati as a slut" thing. It was meant purely in a comical way. Ha, I had fun writing it. Sorry if you didn't like that, I didn't know that Parvati was near and dear to anyone. I just needed a Gryffindor girl, and her name could have been Floozy Suzy for all I care. I don't plan to make her a major character, so no worries for those of you who like chaste! Parvati better.  
  
By the way, did you notice how soon I updated?? This is a Valentine's Day present for all of you! That, and I've had a complaint or two. Some of you just have to understand that some of my chapters are four and five thousand words long on average. Do you really expect me to get that much out in a couple days? I love writing, but I have school also, and my GPA really wouldn't like it if I stopped going to class. So I promise to get it out when I can. At least I'm not one of those authors that goes for a year without a chapter, right?  
  
Oh well, enjoy the chapter. There's a special guest appearance that everyone has been waiting for. (:  
  
Chapter 5: Shaky Ground  
  
How would that look on his gravestone? Draco Malfoy, Werewolf Extraordinaire: killed by rampaging porlocks.  
  
Well, it could be worse. His great uncle Thaddeus Malfoy, in an attempt to hide, had transfigured himself into a log of firewood when he had been caught in a compromising situation with another man's wife. Unfortunately for him, that same log of firewood was accidentally burned on the evening fire. At least he had been cremated, right?  
  
It's funny how your mind wanders when faced with mortal peril.  
  
He raised his head slightly. Parvati silently sobbed into his chest, fingers grasping the folds of his robes in a death grip. Draco coughed, but did not let go of the shaking girl. His lungs burned, partly from exertion, and partly from the amount of debris that hung in the air.  
  
Shouts could be heard outside the fence, and small bursts of light shot through the cloud.  
  
What's happening? He couldn't see the porlocks anymore; he could only see vague shapes on the ground. They didn't move.  
  
The dust slowly settled. Parvati had calmed slightly. Her sobs had turned to hiccups, but she still clutched him tightly. He awkwardly placed a hand on her back and moved it up and down in what he could only assume was a comforting gesture. The Slytherin even tried a few soothing words. He grimaced. Hopefully, the other students had either been trampled or were too far away to see his actions.  
  
Heavy footsteps sounded against the hard-trodden earth, and a large shape became clearer. Draco squinted, and craned his neck for a better view of the approaching figure.  
  
The form of what was unmistakably Hagrid came into his field of vision.  
  
"Hagrid," he coughed. "Over here!" His voice sounded hoarse and scratchy, like he'd been screaming at the top of his lungs all day. Draco shifted his arm out from under Parvati, and used it to flag down Hagrid. The giant ran towards them, earth shaking underfoot, looking slightly fearful and relieved at the same time.  
  
"Are yeh OK?" he asked breathlessly. He knelt down beside the pair, and put a hand on Parvati's shoulder. She turned her head and looked into up at Hagrid's kindly expression, allowing Draco to fully see her tear-stained and dirt-streaked face. She nodded, but still kept quiet. Thankfully, she had released her death grip of Draco's robes, and had pulled away from him somewhat.  
  
Draco pulled a handkerchief out of his breast pocket, and handed it to the still sobbing girl. She took it gratefully and then proceeded to ruin the 20 galleon silk handkerchief, embroidered with the Malfoy family crest.  
  
He watched the scene with disinterest. All he could do was sit on the ground, elbows to his knees, and head in his hands. He knew he looked dazed. In fact, he still felt like he was viewing the world through a dirty window, watching the action take place, but not actually participating.  
  
Maybe it was the glassy look, or it could have been the fact that his mouth was hanging open ever so slightly, but whatever the reason, something caused Hagrid to give him another look.  
  
"Malfoy?" the giant questioned cautiously. Draco looked up. His eyelids fluttered, but he snapped them open again, and tried to focus on Hagrid's face.  
  
Hagrid's beetle-black eyes grew large, and he swore softly. He turned to look behind him. Where the porlocks coming back? Was something wrong? Hagrid never swore. None of the teachers did. Well, except for an occasionally irate Snape, but that was nothing to worry about. Unless you were on the receiving end, that is.  
  
"Come on boy. Can yeh stand?" Draco nodded mutely, and closed his eyes once more to clear his spinning head. He didn't feel right. His adrenaline was pumping, or at least, it had been. Now he felt drained, like a leech had attached itself to the back of his head and was sucking out his life energy drop by drop.  
  
He pushed himself to his feet, barely managing to stifle a groan. He was sore in a dozen places, but he stretched his body just the same. Where was his personal masseuse when he really needed it? It was a shame that only students could attend Hogwarts. Couldn't they make a few exceptions every now and then?  
  
Draco watched as Hagrid lifted Parvati as easily as if she were a child. The giant began to walk, indicating with a nod of his head that Draco should follow. Some students began to pile out of Hagrid's hut, while others still gathered around the fence. Most just looked like they wanted to leave, and as soon as possible. Many had torn their robes, or suffered small cuts and bruises. They didn't look happy.  
  
"Class dismissed fer today," he called to the waiting crowd. "And five points ta each of yeh that helped me stun the porlocks. Harry, Hermione, Ron." He nodded in their general direction. The trio nodded back, cast a quick questioning glance at Draco, and reluctantly turned to follow the rest of their classmates back towards the castle.  
  
A worried Blaise stayed a bit longer than necessary too, but eventually left Draco to be tended to by the giant when his shouts went unheard.  
  
Draco trudged after Hagrid, completely oblivious to the stares of his fellow students. His blank gaze fell on no one.  
  
It was certainly a day to go down in Hogwarts: A History. Student's talked about it for years to come. Draco Malfoy's hair was mussed! It was more than mussed. It was in complete disarray! Dirt and grime smeared his face, and his usually pristine robes were now torn at the sleeves and the hemline. Shoes: scuffed. Trousers: wrinkled. It was practically sacrilegious!  
  
Let them look. Let them talk. At the moment, he was anything but the picture of elegance, but for the first time in his life, he didn't care.  
  
Draco smiled, a real smile, and calmly followed Hagrid to his awaiting hut.  
  
************************  
  
Draco trudged wearily into the cabin and flopped into a massive overstuffed chair, one twice the normal size of any other. Even at his respectable height of 6 foot 1, his feet dangled over the side. He was completely exhausted, and let his limbs hang lifelessly over the edge.  
  
"Stay put," Hagrid whispered to the Slytherin, and walked over to place Parvati in a chair. Draco arched an eyebrow in surprise, and prepared a snide reply, but he swiftly changed his mind. Hagrid's glare would have had Snape leaping to his feet to give a standing ovation.  
  
Just who does he think he is anyway? Doesn't the giant have any respect for his betters? Ordering me around like he owns the place or something. Oh, wait, he does own the place.  
  
Ignoring the sheepish feeling that suddenly washed over him, he instead took a second to look at his fellow student.  
  
Parvarti's lips still trembled slightly, but she was much calmer than before, and had gained some semblance of composure by now. She let her entire upper body fall onto the table, head resting on top of her folded arms, not even acknowledging that there indeed were other people in the room. Even as Draco watched, she closed her eyes, as if she could block out the entire day's events in that one simple gesture.  
  
He felt sorry for her, he really did, but he wasn't going to let anybody catch onto that detail. He turned his attention away. He didn't like those feelings. Feelings for another person, no matter how insignificant they seemed, had always put him on edge. Hate he could handle, but not sympathy. Sympathy implied that one was caring, kind, and compassionate. Draco was none of these things. But he did understand other emotions. Hate didn't confuse him. In reality, it usually made his problems easier. He would find a single outlet to vent his frustrations upon, which usually ended up being Harry Potter, and everything would be just fine.  
  
A bit of friendly rivalry was always good. Okay, okay, it wasn't friendly, per say, but it was the game that made for the excitement. But this led him to another thought, one he extremely disliked: jealousy. Jealousy was an emotion that he had battled with for a long time. He understood jealousy. Jealousy raged inside a person for years, but it made them stronger, in the long run. It pushed a person to do their best and inspired them to do their worst. Sympathetic feelings, on the other hand, made life a lot more complicated, and it was always easier to focus on your own problems than another's. It could get a person killed, and in Draco's life, that was certainly a possibility.  
  
Draco watched Hagrid as he continued to bustle around the kitchen, much like a mother hen clucking over a newly-found chick. He occasionally sent a soothing word in the girl's direction, which surprised Draco somewhat. The giant scraped together the loose makings of an afternoon tea and placed it onto the rickety table, all the while keeping a wary eye on the boy.  
  
Hagrid would probably make a pretty good house elf if he wasn't so large and hairy. Of course, the mental picture of Hagrid in a ripped pillowcase pouring afternoon tea would make anyone change their minds about that idea. Draco shuddered, and desperately tried to think of something else. Some things were best left to their own devices.  
  
It was almost disturbing to see a creature so large and uncultured tend to another in such a caring manner. It went against everything Draco had ever learned about giants, and it was hard to change those views. Then again, it was almost absurd to think of Hagrid stomping around like his giant ancestors. He couldn't even hurt a flobberworm without bawling over the thing's demise. Maybe it was hormones or something. That could explain the constant emotional rollercoaster ride that Hagrid seemed to forever occupy. Then again, Hagrid wasn't exactly at an age where something like that could change that much. Oh well, chalk it up to one strange personality then. It was embarrassing, though why Draco himself was embarrassed would be anyone's guess.  
  
It was much easier to classify Hagrid as a freak of nature, an oddity, an exception to a rule, instead of actually considering that some giants were fairly civilized, to use the term loosely. So Draco treated him as the freak he thought he was, and his father had approved greatly. If his father approved, then it must be the correct thing to do. Treat the inferiors in an inferior way, and everything turned out fine, because everyone knew their place in the world, and they stayed in their place. Yeah, right. The mudblood Granger: example number two.  
  
He watched as Hagrid picked up a dainty tea cup. Everything about the man was an oxymoron! How can you compare a man to human standards when the man himself isn't entirely human? Then again, Hagrid showed more signs of humanity than many Deatheaters that Draco had met.  
  
Yes, his life had been so easy, so simple then. And then he had been a complete moron and gone into the Forbidden Forest, alone, on the night of a full moon. Bad Draco, bad! No wonder the house elves always hit their heads against heavy blunt objects. If they did it one too many times, they would become unconscious and forget any transgression that had just been committed. Head trauma did have a tendency to produce such effects.  
  
Even though this action was appealing, Draco restrained himself. After all, it might muss his hair; one can be neither play the proper villain nor the hero with untidy hair.  
  
He unconsciously ran a hand back over his platinum locks, just in case. One mustn't forget the flashing and brilliant smile either. It was just a rule. Heroes and/or villains must have at least four of the following: money, power, minions, good looks, fan girls, the ability to incite fear and obedience (considered to be more evil than good in most cases), and a vast knowledge of weaponry and ancient spells. OK, so he was working on the last few. Just give him time.  
  
Draco took a second to glance around the room. Various odds and ends littered the cabin. Rusted keys hung on even rustier nails. Fang sat in a corner, quietly munching on a rather large bone. Occasional slurping noises followed his actions. Animal traps of various sizes cluttered the corners of the small room, although, as Draco noted, none looked lethal in any way. He quickly thanked whoever listened to his prayers that Hagrid had not taken a leaf out of Filch's book and used more deadly means of capture. What if that was him in a trap one night?  
  
That thought had been buried in the back of his mind all day, and every time he started to think about it, he would push it away again. It was becoming a trend. He wasn't ready to think about the future, not in that way. He didn't want to think about the darkness that he was sure would engulf him, like a black wave washing over his entire body. It was like drowning, gasping for breath and rising to the surface, only to realize that the surface is covered in a layer of ice, and escape is impossible. To be so close to escape, only to become trapped once more. That was what he felt like. It was a somber thought, and not one that he liked to linger on. He pushed it away once more.  
  
Light filtered through the grimy and smudged windows, playing upon the particles of dust that lifted and flew into the air every time Hagrid took a step. Really quite beautiful, if one stopped to think about it.  
  
The bulky but shaky table before him had certainly seen better days. Large chunks of wood were missing from the corners, and what suspiciously looked like teeth marks were gouged into the sides and legs. There was no telling, and Hagrid wasn't about to divulge the information about any more illegal pets that he had smuggled onto the Hogwarts grounds. The table appeared to be one enormous stain accumulated after years of constant use with absolutely no cleaning in between.  
  
He had only been in the cabin for a few short times, all of which included distinct memories that had involved either running for his life or fearing for his life. He wasn't particularly fond of the place either. It was no better than a garden shed, in his opinion. Some would have called it rustic. Draco just called it plain repulsive. It was dirty, for one thing, and an odor pervaded the room, something acrid, old and musty; one that he couldn't place, but daren't ask. Maybe it would come to him later.  
  
He sniffed in distaste, and attempted to assume a more comfortable position in the overly fluffy chair. Each time he shifted his weight, he slid to one side, which left him fighting to gain ground to the other. It was a losing battle. He finally settled for the right side of the chair, the closest to the crackling fire that Hagrid had lit moments before. The boy prepared himself for what he could only predict would be a long, dull afternoon.  
  
"Now, now, no need ta thank me. You just need to calm down a bit." said Hagrid, especially emphasizing the last sentence as he handed Draco a cup of steaming tea. Draco lifted an eyebrow slightly. Ha, that was a laugh. Draco wasn't about to thank anyone, much less a blundering giant. Still, he was grateful for the pleasant calming effect of the tea, and took it without hesitation.  
  
Hagrid, on the other hand, grew continually anxious. He kept glancing between Parvati and Draco, as if one of them would fling themselves towards him at any moment. Finally, Hagrid settled himself into the last remaining chair, placing it directly between the two students.  
  
Parvati seemed to have regained her poise. She attempted to straighten herself, to reclaim any sense of dignity she still retained. She fussed with her clothes, trying to brush them free of as much dust as possible, and continued in much the same fashion for another minute or two. The girl ran a hand through her tousled hair, and tried to wipe away the tears from her red and puffy eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry," she finally sighed. "I just needed a second." She absently tucked a wayward strand of dark hair behind an ear and glanced at Draco. "I don't know how I can ever thank-"  
  
But Hagrid was already shifting his massive form to block them from each other's view. "Would you like a rock cake Parvati?" he cut in jovially. "Made 'em meself."  
  
"Huh?" asked a clearly puzzled Parvati. "Uh, no, thanks Hagrid." She turned to face Draco again. "If there's anything I can-"  
  
"More tea!" boomed Hagrid, who grabbed the kettle and started to refill Parvati's half full cup.  
  
Parvati, startled, recovered herself quickly. "Thanks Hagrid. I'm fine, really I am. In fact I-"  
  
"Yer completely right. Of course yer fine," he said quickly, and practically shoved her out of her seat. "Let me show you to the door." And he ushered her out, urging her forward.  
  
Parvati, tea cup still in hand, was a little flustered. She nearly lost her balance as Hagrid put a calloused hand on her shoulder to steer her towards the oak door.  
  
"But I-"  
  
"Yes, don't worry, I'll write ye a note fer yer next class. Have a good day, and make sure ye visit again." Hagrid paused, momentarily ceasing his urging. "That is, a visit at a much later time, not today I mean."  
  
"But I don't have another-" continued Parvati, who kept throwing suspicious glances back over her shoulder as she was pushed forward.  
  
"Good, good. Plenty of time ta catch up on homework," interjected Hagrid, who didn't seem to realize that it indeed was a Friday night.  
  
"I'm not stupid you know," said Parvati, eyebrows furrowing. "There's something going on h-" and Hagrid shut the door in her face, eliciting a loud bang that shook the entire cabin and shifted dust that had not been moved in years.  
  
Draco had been watching the entire proceedings with a sort of mild shock. Why was Hagrid so jumpy?  
  
The said giant now turned back to the blonde, a look of relief spreading across his ruddy face.  
  
"Sorry 'bout that," said Hagrid, glancing at Draco as he walked back to the fireplace and checked the tea pot. "I thought she'd never leave. Not that I would ever turn a student away, but there are more important things to talk about. I had a notion that we'd need some time ta ourselves." Hagrid had begun to whistle a lively tune, and strode over to make his own cup of tea.  
  
Draco shifted uneasily in his chair again, which is when he realized something that filled him with dread. He, heir to the Malfoy family fortune and prince of Slytherin house, was alone, in a secluded house, out of hearing distance of the entire castle, with none other than a half giant who seemingly had some sort of bipolar disorder. With a giant that wanted to "spend time" with him. Only God could save him now.  
  
***********************************************  
  
The Carpathians were lovely at this time of the year, glazed in ice and covered in a freshly fallen powder of snow. It was one of the few places that had remained unchanged, looking the same as it had a thousand years ago. No ski slopes dotted the snow-covered peaks that seemed to reach higher than the eye could see. And the only sounds that came to ear were of birds and animals, and the cracking of the ancient trees and the whistle of the wind through the icy branches that stretched and spidered their way heavenward.  
  
He crunched through the forest, sinking slightly at every footfall, raising his knees higher to clean a path through the winter wonderland. Clad only in threadbare robes, he instead decided to occupy his mind with the thought of a blazing fire and a cozy cabin. He didn't increase his pace, for fear of sweating too much. True, it would warm his body if he were to exert himself more, but years of experience on the run had taught him that a layer of accumulated sweat could easily freeze, creating a sheath of ice over one's body, almost ensuring hypothermia. And out here, in the distant wilderness bereft of human life, hypothermia meant death, even for him.  
  
The cabin lie in the distance, and smoke still smoldered out of the chimney from the remains of that morning's glowing embers.  
  
He smiled a relieved smile. It has always been a handsome face, even more so on a rare occasion that he actually did smile.  
  
The villagers especially seemed quick to discuss this new stranger who suddenly appeared not a few months before. He was quite friendly when he came to town for supplies, although that had only happened two or three times since his arrival. He looked young, still in the prime of his life, but the eyes always told a different story. The man seemed haunted, perhaps by the loss of a loved one, or maybe simply by past actions that have since been regretted? Whatever the cause, the citizens of the local village thought it best to let sleeping dogs lie. No one wanted to make trouble, not when certain rumors about the man's identity were circulating.  
  
He was strange, always too thin and a bit on the sickly side, but strong- willed and intelligent. What was he? Nosferatu? No, one of those hadn't been seen in years. So they watched from their houses as he passed, pale faces peering from behind dark curtains to catch a glance of this strange new visitor. He came then left, then everything would be back to the way it was before, with conversations about the new harvest or how many pigs Mr. So and so had.  
  
He continued to trudge, wrapping his arms around his body to trap what heat remained. Just as he was picturing a steaming cup of tea accompanied by a nice nap by the hearth, he stopped and squinted into the distance.  
  
A black dot appeared on the horizon, making slow progress but moving nonetheless. He squinted into the distance again, his puzzlement evident. If that's what he thought it was, and by this time he was positive, then it must be very important to come this far. Nearly 3 weeks had gone by without any communication to the outside world, which is exactly why he had chosen a little town near Transylvania as a place of rest. So why, after explicitly leaving instructions to not be contacted, would they send him an owl? Because that's what it was.  
  
He had reached the front yard of his house just as the bird swooped into the clearing. It circled him impatiently and hooted noisily, disturbing the silence of the pristine wood.  
  
"Alright, alright. I'm coming. You, down here!" He lifted an arm, allowing the owl to land gracefully and perch there. He grimaced faintly when the owl tightened its grip with its talons. That would leave a bruise, especially at this time.  
  
The man accepted the letter, and trekked uphill the last couple of steps to his rustic little cabin, chinked together with a mixture of wood and mud. He passed his pile of firewood, which he had been hoarding to protect against the impending storms. To his left was the well, dating back much farther than the actual cabin. On the coldest mornings he had to chip the ice from the top of the rain barrels, which he used when even the well was completely frozen over.  
  
Once inside, he quickly rekindled the fire. It was clearly the centerpiece of the house, and for good reason. He liked nothing better than to stare into the flames and watch as it licked and danced against the sweet- smelling wood.  
  
The owl accepted its treat gratefully. Then, without warning, he lifted once again into the air and sailed through the cabin window, which he quickly shut behind it.  
  
The man opened the parchment carefully, his eyes lingering on the Hogwarts crest as a rush of memories filled his mind. Not all of them were good, but he wouldn't trade them for all the gold in Gringott's.  
  
He read the letter, kind face hardening as his brown eyes traveled downward. After reading it the first time, he reread the letter twice more, hoping to God that he had misunderstood or skipped some vital sentence that would nullify the previous lines. When he was sure that he was correct, he placed the parchment on the kitchen table in front of him, and gripped the edges for support, knuckles whitening. The man hung his head and closed his eyes as if in prayer, and remained this way for nearly a minute.  
  
"Not another one. Dear God, not another one," he whispered at last.  
  
With a shuddering sigh, he raised his head, steeled himself, and went to pack his few belongings.  
  
He was going back to Hogwarts.  
  
Well, what do you think? How did you like Parvati? Draco's reaction to being with Hagrid? The description of the Carpathian scene?  
  
Please review, I'm not getting that many anymore. Are the chapters too long? Is it too hard to read? Suggestions, changes? Thanks, reviews answered below.  
  
Lil' Slayer: Yay! My favorite reviewer is back. I'm really excited to read your story when it comes out. Ha, you were just as bad as me to leave a cliff hanger, and you know it. But no prob, anticipation makes it better I guess. I'm so glad you caught on to the comedy part of Draco/Parvati! Not many people did, then they got all mad because Parvati was different than what they had in mind. So I really appreciate your support, because your review is always the most detailed/informative, and it truly helps me improve my writing. Do I study the books? Haha, I wish I had that much time. Nope, I just usually have a good memory for detail and that sort of thing, but I'm flattered that you would think so. Good luck on your fic! I hope my advertisement brought some reviewers to you.  
  
Dr. Demonic: It's so great to see a new face! I'm really glad that you like the story so much. Your review left a silly grin on my face for an hour. As for Draco, I don't for a second believe he's soft-hearted. I think he has emotions, like any other human, but I don't think he's comfortable talking about them/ displaying them in front of other people. He's a fighter, and I really doubt that he would roll into the fetal position and just give up any time soon. You're right, I hate those "He's so misunderstood and he actually was a great guy the entire time but was controlled by his father with the imperius curse" fics. I'm glad we agree.  
  
Tiffy &co.: I got this chapter out early specifically because of your review. Feel special? As to lazy - Lazy?! It takes a lot to write these fics! And that was one month, thank you very much. Sorry, didn't mean to shout. But I meant what I said when I say that these are REALLY long chapters compared to what you usually see, and I just don't have time to write 24/7. But I'm flattered that you like my fic enough to be concerned about it. I know exactly what you mean when you say that you hate checking for fics everyday. I could make the chapters shorter, and post more often, but I honestly think a lot of timing would be out of sinc. Not to mention the god-awful amount of cliffhangers, and we all know how we hate them (cackles evilly). As for Blaise, the name is mentioned when Harry was sorted in Book 1. I don't know if he is male or female, so I used a bit of creative editing to fit him to my story. Alas, no, the porlocks are not mine. They are in "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them" from the Harry Potter series. It's published, and I'm sure you could find it online. Last, to Parvati- if you read my AN above, then you see why I used Parvati. And not that I'm speaking from experience, but just because you're slutty doesn't mean that you're not smart. I guess you learn that in college. In fact, I think I can hear a few of them yelling outside of my dorm window right now. Whoa, this is getting long too. Thanks for the review, I'll keep the chapters coming.  
  
Launigsiae: Very interesting. I see it now. ¿Usted habla español? Estoy tomando algunas clases en español en la universidad ahora, así que mi español no es malo. Todavía estoy trabajando en él, así que estoy apesadumbrado si hay errores. También, es 3 de la mañana ahora, satisface tan me perdona si usted no puede leer esto. Gracias por repasar mi capítulo, y espero que usted lea más. 


	6. Dare to be Different

A/N: Yes, it's late again. I'm sorry, so I guarantee another chapter in half that time. I did a lot of rethinking on this story, and ended up rewriting a couple of the future chapters so more characters could make an appearance. There's been a lot of character development, but I'm hoping to pick up the pace and bring in some action. And yes, that was Lupin. He'll show up eventually, and play a much bigger role. I just liked making people think about it. Is that evil of me? Haha. Alright, on to the next chapter. It's not as long as the last one, but that's because I didn't want to run on to the next chapter, which will probably be in excess of 5000 words. Lots of work, but it will be done. My exams are over for another 2 weeks! That is basically what held me off this story. (Well, that and Spring Break in Florida, and you know how we college kids go crazy....I think I had one permanent headache that week.)  
  
Chapter 6: Dare to be Different  
  
If anyone walked into the Malfoy Manor dining room on that sunny Friday morning, they would have found nothing out of the ordinary. Lucius, along with his wife Narcissa, were dining quietly at the table, occasionally discussing upcoming weddings or Lucius's day at the office. Ever since he had been released from Azkaban on a technicality (i.e. bribe), he had watched his steps carefully. All this changed in a single second.  
  
Lucius gasped in pain as he grabbed his forearm. Beads of sweat appeared on his regal forehead. He grimaced and quickly stumbled from his chair, shifting the tablecloth and knocking over the vase of tulips. Narcissa watched silently.  
  
"It's him," she stated. It wasn't a question.  
  
"Yes," he hissed between clenched teeth. Lucius straightened and looked back at his wife, whose eyes were shining with unshed tears. He took her in his arms, and they stood that way for several moments, listening to each other's heartbeats.  
  
Finally, Lucius pulled away gently, and glanced around the dining room, not wanting to meet her eyes.  
  
A massive Austrian chandelier loomed over their heads, catching every ray of light which twinkled brighter than a neutron star. Fine china cabinets, which sat on Chinese carpets, were filled to the brim with china and crystal and gold plated finery, littered the paneled walls, each decorated with molding made of the finest design. An air of splendor pervaded the room, which was ornate and magnificent to the last detail.  
  
"Is this worth it?" she whispered, turning her back to Lucius and running a delicate hand over the gleaming dining room table. On outward appearance, she seemed a cold and distant woman, but only Lucius, and maybe Draco, knew that this was untrue.  
  
Lucius too looked around the room, although his eyes, as grey as his son's, focused on items of a different nature: the Malfoy family crest, embossed on a shield of silver dating back to the 12th century; and hanging over the roaring fireplace was the sword and wand of Ilian Malfoy, one of a long line who built Malfoy Manor (including the dungeons – muggle torture was always a favorite past time, even beating out house elf booting). If he had wandered down the hall a few feet, he could have stepped into the library, containing every date of births, weddings, christenings, graduations, and just about anything else one could think of pertaining to the Malfoy family. And Draco was the last of his line.  
  
"Sometimes I don't know if it's worth it or not," he admitted truthfully, as if surprised to hear himself speak those words. "All I know right now," he added, voice becoming grim, "is that I've been hearing rumors. Disturbing ones. Ones that could affect every single Malfoy from here on. And Draco hasn't answered the last owl I sent yet. I have to go. He'll know if there's something amiss."  
  
He sat on the edge of the table, and waited for her to say something. When she said nothing, he turned to leave.  
  
"Dinner is tonight at seven," she called to his back. He faced her again. She was beautiful still, even after years of marriage and childbirth had aged her.  
  
"Don't be late either. The house elves almost wet themselves the last time when the dishes came close to burning." Her bottom lip trembled, but she otherwise seemed perfectly calm, just like the wife of a deatheather should be.  
  
Lucius chuckled softly, glad to see that his wife still had a sense of humor. He stood, kissed her on the cheek, and apparated to the check point. He was wary of what horrors awaited him and his family.  
  
**********************************************  
  
Hagrid sat down heavily in the chair next to Draco and leaned forward, a cup of tea in hand. "Malfoy," he began, ignoring Draco's discomfort. "You and me, we ain't always been the greatest of pals in the past."  
  
Ladies and Gentlemen: you now see before you the winner of the Understatement of the Year Award.  
  
"But I want yeh to know that I'm willing to put that behind me, if you are."  
  
Draco nearly did a double take. Of all the stupid things to say, why the... Was he kidding? Had someone put the giant up to a joke? Draco would have laughed, but he saw that Hagrid seemed serious.  
  
Alright, I'll play your game.  
  
"And why should I do that?" he replied coldly, almost mockingly.  
  
Hagrid was passing his tea cup from hand to hand, and cleared his throat once more. With a slight sense of malicious pleasure, Draco realized that Hagrid was probably as uncomfortable as he was.  
  
"Because," Hagrid sighed. "Because you need help, from someone at least, even if yeh don't want ter admit it."  
  
"I can't believe this!" Draco nearly screeched, and threw his hands up into the air. "Is this why I'm here? To have a heart to heart with you, of all people? You can't be serious."  
  
Draco slid out of the chair, fully intending to leave then and there. But on second thought, a bit of taunting would be fun. He faced Hagrid and did his best to look down on him, even if the giant was several feet taller.  
  
"You make me sit here, waste precious time from my Friday afternoon, just so you can pretend to be my friend? Who set you up to this? Dumbledore? Tell the old fool that I'm not saying anything. My father has already gone to Azkaban once," hissed Draco. His felt himself getting angrier by the second, chest rising and falling as his breathing accelerated. He clenched his fists at his sides, resisting the urge to wrap his hands around Hagrid's large neck. To rip, tear, shred the muscle and sinew that held-  
  
"No one has set you up Malfoy," growled Hagrid. "If yeh weren't so paranoid all the time, you'd realize that there are decent people in the world who want to help you."  
  
"And what kind of help could I get from a groundskeeper? Can you fight curses, or defeat armies? You didn't even graduate from school. How are you supposed to help where others have failed?" He stared into Hagrid's eyes and willed himself not to blink.  
  
Hagrid's eyes hardened, but he ignored the jibe. "Well, fer starters," he said, "I could tell you that you need to start learning how to control your emotions."  
  
"I can control my emotions," he snapped, and turned towards the window. He wasn't eager to give in to any of Hagrid's comments, no matter how true they were. Draco took several deep breaths to clear his thoughts.  
  
"Oh you can, can you?" said the giant, speaking as if he were talking to a seven year old. "Not from what I saw today."  
  
He whipped around, eyes glaring daggers at the large man before him. "Don't patronize me groundskeeper; I get enough of that without you telling me," he replied darkly. Draco paused. "And what did you mean, I should control my emotions?" he said, feigning disinterest. But inside, he was seething with curiosity. Did Hagrid know something that he didn't?  
  
"Why don't you take a walk over to that mirror," said Hagrid, nodding in the direction. "That one over there, above the dresser. Then you tell me what I meant."  
  
With an exaggerated sigh, Draco spun away from the door and swaggered towards the grimy mirror.  
  
"Alright, I'm looking. What am I looking for?" drawled the teen, arms crossed over his chest in impatience.  
  
"Walk closer than that, you're practically ten feet away!"  
  
Draco walked forward and lazily glanced at the mirror, but did a double- take when he saw his own reflection. His breath caught in his throat. He moved closer, until his nose was practically touching the glass, and braced his hands against the dresser.  
  
Yellow. His eyes were yellow. Amber, to be more exact. He turned his head to the left, then to the right, and back again, all the while keeping his eyes glued to his own reflection. But no matter what angle he turned to, his eyes were still the same color. Changed. Foreign. Unnatural. It wasn't him. But it was him now, wasn't it? He reached a tentative hand towards his face, only to let it rest again on the dresser, as if he would fall over if he didn't hold on.  
  
"What's happening to me?" he whispered at last, barely hearing even himself. He looked about as lost as he felt. His brain felt clouded, his thoughts muddled. Was that his voice? Hagrid was talking. What was he saying? Hagrid's reply brought him back to reality.  
  
"It's yer emotions," he repeated kindly. "You can't get too riled up; else your eyes'll change color. That's part of it."  
  
"So, so the porlock stampede-"  
  
"Set off yer internal trigger, whatever ye want ta call it, and told your body ta get ready to fight," finished Hagrid, who looked quite pleased that he knew the answer. "Your body'll do whatever it can to prepare, even if your mind tells it not to. Did yeh notice anything, like better vision, or hearing maybe?"  
  
Draco spoke slowly, and his voice took on a much more subdued tone that before. "Yes," he said finally, lifting a hand to cradle his chin in contemplation. "When I saw Parvati, I started running, and just blocked everything else out, just to focus on her. And I felt more, more...powerful." Draco faced Hagrid, letting his amber eyes find Hagrid's own beatle black ones. "Does that scare you giant?" he asked, in the most sinister voice he could muster. "I could kill you or anyone else one night. Are you scared of me?"  
  
"No Malfoy, I'm not scared of you," sighed Hagrid, shaking his head sadly. "I feel sorry for you, for what you have to go through. I wouldn't wish it on anyone, not even you."  
  
"I don't need your sympathy," Draco replied hotly. "Not from anyone and especially not from you. I can get through it by myself. I always have. Why should it ever change?"  
  
He turned away from Hagrid to face the fire, not wanting to see the contempt or scorn that he was sure Hagrid probably felt for him right now. Draco suddenly realized how ridiculous it was for him to be saying what he was, especially to Hagrid of all people.  
  
Instead, he felt a tender hand on his shoulder. Draco didn't like to be touched. He turned to glare at the giant, but stopped. Awkwardly, as he was not used to displays of emotion, Draco looked up at the giant standing beside him. What he saw was not contempt, or even amusement at the boy's misfortunes showing in the giant's eyes. What he saw was something he needed, from somebody, anybody. Within those black depths, he saw understanding. Understanding for his condition, understanding for his upbringing, understanding for who he was and what he could become.  
  
"It's hard to be different," said Hagrid sagely, holding his own gaze.  
  
"Yes, well, you would know, wouldn't you?" replied Draco snidely. But secretly, he was grateful. He shrugged Hagrid's hand away from his shoulder.  
  
Hagrid only smiled. It was infuriating how calm and accepting he was.  
  
Draco floundered for anything to change the subject. This particular one made him exceedingly uncomfortable. He didn't like being so open with something so....hairy. He moved away towards the fire. "Yeah, whatever. Do you know what happened that night?" he tried. "The beast, was it found, killed?"  
  
"No," Hagrid answered gravely, shaking his head at the thought. He sat back down and braced his hands against his knees, and leaned forward once more. "I tracked 'em for miles, followed a nice trail. You sure did a number on 'em, eh?"  
  
Draco made a noise and carelessly waved a dismissive hand. He sat back down across from Hagrid, and gracefully crossed his legs, a gesture suggesting that it was a topic not to be discussed. Hagrid took the hint and continued.  
  
"I finally lost the brute down a ravine," continued Hagrid. "The trail ended all of a sudden like. It was as if he just disappeared or something. Funniest thing, even Fang lost the trail. He might be a coward, but he can follow a trail like any other blood hound." Hagrid turned to lay a gentle hand on top of the dog's head, who had quietly walked out of the corner at the mention of his name. He smiled when the dog whined in appreciation.  
  
"So I came back to the site of the tussle, hopin' to find some clues as ta what happened. Didn't find a thing, 'cept your wand that is, and a lot of spilt blood." Hagrid shot a careful glance at the boy across from him.  
  
"You're the one who found my wand?"  
  
"That I did," beamed Hagrid proudly. "Turned it into Poppy as soon as I got back. I figured you'd be wanting it when you woke up.  
  
Draco nodded.  
  
"And that mongrel who bit me, the one who stole my entire life? Will he be prosecuted for his actions, if he's ever found?" Draco's voice had risen in volume, but he otherwise remained impassive.  
  
"Would you want to be blamed for something that you had no recollection of doing? Something you had no control over?"  
  
"But the wolfsbane potion-"  
  
"Is only a recent development," finished Hagrid. "Very few are as skilled as Professor Snape at brewing potions. For one thing, it's expensive, and still not well known. You're lucky, you are, to be so close to an expert like him. Otherwise you'd be the same as every other poor soul who transforms every full moon. Wait another two weeks Malfoy, and maybe you'll change your mind. I hope ta God that you never have to face the guilt that other werewolves face everyday."  
  
"Why?" asked Draco suddenly, his brow creasing. "Why do you care about somebody like me?"  
  
Hagrid looked thoughtful and a bit surprised at the change in topic, but took only a moment to answer the question.  
  
"Well, let me ask you this first. Why did you save Parvati?"  
  
"I was pushing her out of my path. She was blocking my escape route," he haughtily informed him.  
  
He glanced at Hagrid, who was looking at him skeptically. "Don't look at me like that. She was a pureblood, and father would have killed me if I could have prevented her death but didn't. They're good friends with the Patils."  
  
Draco looked at Hagrid, who still seemed to be waiting for an answer. For Merlin's sake, didn't he ever just mind his own business?! Draco saw that if he wanted to get out of the reeking hut anytime soon, he'd have to start giving some real answers. Draco conceded.  
  
"Even if I had meant to help her, anyone would have done it," he muttered, staring at his shoes.  
  
"That's where you're wrong, Malfoy. Any selfish bastard could have left her to be trampled to death. You're different, even though you don't know it. You forgot your own well-being, if just for one extremely rare moment- " Draco narrowed his eyes. "-and put another life before your own. That makes you OK in my book, even if you are a Slytherin."  
  
Draco cracked a sardonic smile at the attempted joke, although it was mostly for Hagrid's benefit. He didn't bother to correct Hagrid either. He really was half saving his own butt. The other half was just instinct. She was a pureblood. It felt kind of like he was saving his own pack.  
  
Pack?! Merlin, I hate the wolf's mind sometimes!  
  
"So you want to suddenly be friends?" Draco replied cynically, although no malice touched his voice. "What do we do now? Walk through a field of daisies, hand in hand, singing children's nursery rhymes and talking about the good old days while the sun is shining and rabbits and other fury woodland creatures romp through the meadow? We could even have a picnic." A trace of a smile played across his lips.  
  
"Besides," Draco concluded. "I couldn't be seen with a groundskeeper anyway, so you'd have to hide behind the trees while I romp through the meadow."  
  
"Why Malfoy!" exclaimed Hagrid, faking the utmost sincerity. "I do believe that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."  
  
Draco's smirk stayed in place.  
  
A moment of understanding passed between the two. Yes, Draco realized, Hagrid knows how it feels to be different. That doesn't mean we're going to be friends, he stubbornly reminded himself. I just won't try to get him sacked anymore, especially if he knows more about werewolfism. Hagrid could turn out to be an excellent source of knowledge.  
  
"Now," said Hagrid, turning away from the fire and picking up a plate. "Are ya hungry?"  
  
Draco wisely declined any other offers of Hagrid's cooking, even though he was starving, and gathered himself together. He was grateful to see that his eyes had changed back to their normal hue. On his way out, Draco turned back as Hagrid called behind his back.  
  
"And Malfoy," he said, his eyes softening. "Don't be a stranger."  
  
"I might stop by later, if I need any servants work done." Or if I need more information, he thought. "Of course, I've always got a lot to do. And to be honest I think your house smells like dragon dung, so you'd have to clean up first as well. Do you dry clean?"  
  
"Jus' send me an owl Malfoy," said Hagrid, who opened the door with a flourish.  
  
Draco nodded his thanks and left.  
  
About halfway across the lawn back to Hogwarts, he abruptly stopped, and stared in the direction of the fading sun. He had always liked sunsets, and it was nice to catch the last few rays as they fell below the horizon.  
  
He turned his attention to the rising moon, half-formed and resplendent in the night sky. It was comforting also, this glowing orb. In a different way of course, but even then, it had an equal amount of sway on his life, or more so.  
  
He tried to clear his thoughts. My God, his brain screamed. I've got to stop being a depressed sod and go do something about it.  
  
So off he strode across the grounds in the direction of the Great Hall, which was already buzzing with the sounds of chattering students and clanking utensils. The smell of chicken was wafting across the grounds. His stomach was already growling, but he had more important things on his mind. A mischievous smirk curved his mouth. Potter hasn't had enough detentions lately. I think Professor Snape is actually getting lonely.  
  
Reviews Answered:  
  
Launigsiae -Gracias tanto por la contestación. Intento utilizar mi español tanto como sea posible, pero he tenido solamente español en clase, así que nunca he podido utilizar español en situaciones verdaderas de la vida. Estoy tomando una clase de la conversación el semestre próximo, así que espero que mi español sea mejor. Y gracias por la oferta de ayudarme con mi español. ¿Puedo preguntarle dónde vives?  
  
Unknown- Alright, back to English! I'm really glad that you like the characters, especially Draco. The hardest part of this story is to keep him in character, even while he is essentially changing character. I'll try not to let the number of reviews get me down. Just your review alone gives me hope that there are tons of people out there!! (you know who you are) Yup, that was Lupin, but I thought I'd let everyone mull over that for a bit, just to see reactions. Thanks again for the review.  
  
Lil' Slayer- Hey friend! Yeah, the last one was quick, but I went and got people angry at me for not updating quite as quickly. Oh well, the next one will be out faster. But I won't rush, don't worry. And really, feel free to throw out some ideas, honestly. If nothing else, I get to consider a different point of view.  
  
Dr. Demonic: So glad you like it! I'm beaming. I'm happy you like the Lupin scene, I was almost afraid that it was too much description and not enough action. Sorry the update didn't come out as fast as you were hoping for, but it's here now and I hope it lived up to your expectations.  
  
Tiffany & Co. : No, I didn't mean for it to sound quite so angry last time. After I posted, I read it and realized that I kind of sounded like an ass, so I'm really thankful that you took time to review again. But yeah, I'm lazy sometimes, so you really can blame me for that. Yeah, the Carpathians are mountains near Transylvania. I should have put some sort of author's note for that, my apologies. More side effects for werewolfism? I don't plan on adding any new ones, just the usuals that one would associate with it. But thanks for the tip, I'll keep that in mind. You like Draco's inner voice? Me too! I love writing it, and a whole lot of people seem to appreciate it, so I'll definitely continue it. There's really not too many ways you can include humor in a depressing subject, so this is usually the type that it will have to be. But that works out, doesn't it? I've been giving some careful thought to the Draco/Lucius relationship. And about child abuse- I think that, especially in the Malfoy family, there's a fine line between abuse and tough love, and that maybe Lucius is just trying to prepare Draco for things to come. I don't view him as evil. Hopefully, this chapter lets you view him in the same light that I do. But there will be more development in the future.  
  
A/N : Comments? Suggestions? Hated it, loved it? How about the talk between Draco and Hagrid? I hope it wasn't too mushy, I don't want them to have some weird father son relationship. Did Draco remain in character? And the big thing: Lucius and Narcissa? Interaction as a couple, reactions to Lucius leaving? Be brutal if you must. (runs for cover to fight off flaming reviews).  
  
Alright, time to go. I'm sitting here right now, sipping on orange soda before I run to lunch, where I hope to enjoy the wonderful (ie disgusting and I think I have a good chance of getting food poisoning) cafeteria food before my 2 o'clock class. It's Laboratory Methods in Archaeology, so it's not so bad. But I'll see ya'll later. 


	7. Purple Purebloods

AN: Phew! Another nice long chapter. Hope you like it.  
  
Dedicated to Linnpuzzle – thanks for the encouragement. It's people like you who make me want to continue my writing, especially when no one else is reviewing. Props.  
  
Chapter 7: Purple Purebloods  
  
Snape finally let Potions out after assigning a nearly twelve inch piece of parchment on the properties of Devil's Snare. Slytherins and Gryffindors alike had been put in a very bad mood and were only too happy to leave the dungeon classroom. Draco gathered his books and placed them into his bag. He turned to leave, but felt a heavy hand fall onto his shoulder, holding him back. He stiffened.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, a moment of your time, if you please." Snape withdrew his hand. A tall man, Draco had been overjoyed when he had finally been able to speak to his head of house without craning his neck skyward. Now, they were able to speak eye to eye.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"I would like to have a few words with you, preferably tonight. Can you come to my office? Is nine o'clock a good time?"  
  
Deep in this chest, Draco felt his breathing become restricted, as if Snape had suddenly reached inside and squeezed the air out of his lungs. Grasping his shoulder bag a bit more forcefully, he nodded. "Yes, sir." Snape inclined his head in acknowledgement, and bid him a good afternoon.  
  
Crossing the cold flagstones to the dungeon door, Draco looked back over his shoulder. Snape had seated himself behind his desk, an inkpot full of red ink to his side. The ruthless potions master was in full teacher mode. Every now and then he would glare at a paper, snort in disgust, make a few choice comments, one of which sounded strangely like "Weasely" and "paramecium", and toss it into the trash bin beside him, which belched forth flames after every piece of parchment. Draco pitied whoever owned that paper. He softly closed the heavy wooden door behind him.  
  
Draco fretted about the upcoming meeting with Snape the entire day. He just couldn't keep his brain on topic. Was the professor going to inform him that Lucius had discovered his coveted secret? Had Voldemort found out, and demanded his immediate insertion into the ranks of the Deatheaters? Whatever the case, Draco knew that he had to prepare himself for the worst. What if Snape was going to hand him over to Voldemort? He wouldn't go without a fight. He was a Malfoy, and that meant that, no matter what he faced, Draco would give them a fight they'd remember before he fell.  
  
Draco spent his free period in the school's extensive library that smelled of must and old wood, perusing through the dusty stacks of the Defense Against the Dark Arts section in case Snape had something up his sleeve. Of course, he already knew the Unforgivables, and a good many curses that he knew could do some damage. Trouble was, Snape probably knew all of them too, and Draco knew that he would have little chance of defeating or even defending against Professor Snape, who had far more experience and even more knowledge that Draco could ever hope to attain. In the end, he decided to focus on Barrier spells and Illusion charms, both meant to distract and protect so he could get a good hex in before Snape had the opportunity to attack. Draco attempted to memorize those two especially.  
  
He also picked up a book specializing in Lycanthropy. Come to think of it, he didn't know quite how he even found it. When he was looking for defense spells, he had come across the book, hidden behind a several large tomes covered in cobwebs. Its blue cover was stained with age and must have been held together with magic, or else surely it would have fallen apart in his hands. He had wiped the film off the book cover, revealing the title in gold lettering. Not silver. Ironic. "The Wolf Inside: A First Hand Account." Hopefully, this guy would be able to tell him a bit more than what he knew now, which was next to nothing. And that was being generous. It would be beneficial to know what he was up against, particularly since the full moon was quickly approaching.  
  
Wary Madame Pince gave him a distrusting look, turning up her pointed nose and peering over her horn-rimmed glasses as he checked out several similar books.  
  
She's in the wrong field if she's not a people person, he thought silently. In fact, this whole "I'm an angry librarian, leave me alone or else" thing is probably some sort of façade anyway. He had always had a sneaking suspicion that the underfed vulture carefully watched every book that went in and out of her library, and then reported to Dumbledore if anyone was acting "suspiciously." All the same, that's what Draco would do if he was librarian, and then maybe persuade (blackmail) a student or two when he needed a favor.  
  
Really, it must be a boring job, mused Draco as he traveled to Transfiguration. So you've got to do something to take up some time (other that draw in the anatomy books or charm the books to attack students).  
  
Transfiguration proved to be brutal. Seventh years were performing human transfigurations, a very complicated and advanced form of magic.  
  
"The transfiguration for today is a frog. No Ms. Malbrook, it must be green. No other color will suffice." A disappointed Ravenclaw lowered her hand. McGonagall paced up and down the aisle, watching their progress. "Remember to perform the last twirl movement with your wand at the end of each transfiguration, or your partner will reform without the benefit of their clothing." Several students snickered. "I will dock your score an automatic letter grade if this occurs. You can also expect a detention, of my own choosing. So I suggest that you refrain from any of these -" she flashed a pointed look at the Slytherin side. Most met her gaze, smirking. "- antics. Please resume."  
  
Draco had been lucky enough to be paired with a very pretty Ravenclaw girl named Ophelia Claymore, from a very respectable pureblood family. She was quite bright as well, and had no problem changing Draco back and forth. It was an unpleasant feeling, being transfigured, but not altogether dislikable. Although difficult to describe, the best way he could think to explain it would be saying that it felt like being stuffed into a very small box. His body knew that it did not belong in that form, which is why human transfigurations never lasted longer than a few days. The human body naturally tries to revert back to its original state.  
  
When he tried his hand at the transfiguration, it went rather well. At least, it went well in the beginning. The problem came when it was time to change poor Ophelia back into her usual, beautiful self. Draco had been ready to perform the spell when another possibility leapt into his mind. What if Professor Snape had called the meeting because Dumbledore had changed his mind, and had decided that Draco had to leave Hogwarts? Forever. With these thoughts in mind, he attempted to continue his assignment.  
  
Ophelia's head appeared first, sprouting from her froggy torso, and then arms and legs had closely followed. He even performed the extra twirl movement to prevent any embarrassing episodes. So Ophelia had reemerged, completely whole, with only a few minor mishaps.  
  
The Ravenclaw gasped and rounded on Draco, green eyes blazing like hot pokers. "What do you think you're doing?" she hissed, voice dripping with venom.  
  
Draco blinked.  
  
Her eyes were the only thing that had remained their natural color. The rest of her was a different story. Ophelia's hair, skin, and even her clothes had turned a lovely shade of amethyst.  
  
He couldn't help but snort at the sight, which seriously undermined his sincerity. "I didn't mean to." And he hadn't. He really hadn't. But how was he going to convince anyone else of that? And of course, he would never admit to making a mistake in the first place. Better to look clever and in control than stupid and incompetent, i.e. Neville Longbottom. He would play this for all it was worth.  
  
Ophelia shot him one last scathing glare and marched straight to the front of the room to inform McGonagall.  
  
The Slytherins jeered as she passed, thinking that Draco had performed the color change spell on purpose. Blaise shot Draco a thumbs up from across the room, while Crabbe and Goyle guffawed loudly. Draco grinned devilishly and took a bow, sweeping his hand to the side like a conductor pointing to his musicians. Except that he was waving toward Ophelia.  
  
The Ravenclaws looked completely scandalized. Most of the time, the Slytherins left their pranking for either the Hufflepuffs or the Gryffindors. Ravenclaws and Slytherins had usually been on good terms, and they couldn't imagine why one of their own had been attacked for absolutely no reason. It left them fuming.  
  
McGonagall sent Ophelia to the hospital wing, since neither she nor Draco had any idea what he had done. McGonagall assumed that Draco knew perfectly well spell he'd performed, and was just being his normal impudent self, which was fine for Draco. This made him look much more advanced in his transfigurations than he actually felt.  
  
The Gryffindor head of house, rather scary in her own right, gave Draco a special detention: clean out the owlery, with absolutely no magic. He tried to protest this cruel and unusual punishment, but she would have none of it.  
  
"I hope this stunt has been worth it Mr. Malfoy," she said, peering over her wire rimmed spectacles. "And if you're not sure now, I believe you'll have plenty of time to think about it tomorrow night. Happy cleaning." She smiled her patented smile, lips thinning until barely visible, and returned to her perusal of the classroom. Sitting back down at his desk and attempting to look arrogant (which wasn't that hard, as we all know), Draco glumly watched the other students as they continued their transfigurations.  
  
He had just finished concocting another possibility for Snape's meeting (this one involving a tin of broomstick handle polish and a pair of pantyhose) when a shrill scream arose from the other side of the room. Draco, senses alert, searched for the cause of the disturbance, and immediately turned back to his own work. He felt the heat rise in his face. Apparently, someone had forgotten the last – and very crucial - twirl movement of their wand.  
  
*****************************  
  
The entire hall was alit with candles, illuminating the whole room as if it were day. Light glimmered off every polished surface, shining through the silvery ghosts as they floated and mingled with the student body. Although serene in appearance, the noise level was anything but. The clamor of silverware and loud banter rang throughout the hall, but a single hysterical voice rose above the rest.  
  
"I can't believe it. I just can't! Every single paper, he just has to find one tiny thing wrong with it!" Hermione was practically pulling her hair out in frustration. Forsaking the food in front of her, she held out her potions homework for everyone to see. "Look, look at this!" she said to anybody who'd listen, which was basically limited to Ron and Harry.  
  
Ron looked up from his plateful of food, fork in hand, and continued to shove food into his mouth as he spoke. "Well, you can't expect him to give you full marks," he said, taking another enormous bite. "'e 'ates shus, 'n eh ee un else in Gyfinor."  
  
Hermione looked disgusted, and insisted that Harry back her up. "You read that, and tell me what you think."  
  
Harry accepted the piece of parchment and scanned it briefly. "Hmm, red marks across your entire paper, snide remark at the bottom, yep, Snape wrote that." He made as if to hand it back, but Hermione didn't take it. Instead, she sent him a withering look.  
  
"I know that Snape wrote it. Read the remark at the bottom, his so-called 'evaluation'."  
  
Harry sighed and read on obediently, speaking aloud for Ron's benefit.  
  
Dear Ms. Granger,  
  
Although it pains me to do so,-  
  
"Yeah, right," muttered Ron, rolling his eyes. He stabbed a lonely roll with his fork.  
  
- I must subtract points for several grievous errors that you have made. Let it be known that the main ingredient in a bone regeneration potion is not locewings as you have indicated, but lacewings.  
  
"He knew good and well that it was an "a" and not an "o"," pouted Hermione.  
  
And, unless I am mistaken, a potions ingredient known as locewings is not in existence. I will have to subtract points for incorrect ingredients. I am quite disappointed that you have resorted to inventing your own potions ingredients instead of spending the same time and effort that other, more industrious students have.  
  
"Cheating Slytherins," coughed Ron, clearing his throat. "Oh, sorry, please continue. Must be something going around." He waved his hand as if to clear the air in front of him. Harry grinned and continued.  
  
-"If I were a NEWT examiner, I would be forced to give you partial credit for such a large error. I suggest you revise more if you plan to attend the Advanced Potions NEWT examination.  
  
SS  
  
"Well, what did you expect?" finished Harry, and he handed the parchment back to Hermione.  
  
"I keep saying it. The man's a sadist! No person in their right mind would wear that much black unless they were either really depressed or in cahoots with evil. Something really bad, you know?" Ron searched the staff table for the man voted Best Sneer by Witch Weekly, nine years and running.  
  
Said professor was currently glaring at the Hufflepuff table, who were all doing their best not to make eye contact with the greasy potions master. Occasionally, a first year would glance towards the table, only to be met by obsidian eyes and a curled lip that would have done Grindelwald proud. Needless to say, half the table was soon in hysterics.  
  
Ron looked glum. "Look at the bright side Hermione. At least you got your paper back. Mine is a pile of ashes at the bottom of Snape's rubbish bin." He sighed wistfully.  
  
Hermione was ignoring him like he hadn't even said a thing. "No, I can refute it, I know I can. The Wizarding Educational Grading Decree of 1632 says that-"  
  
"Hermione," Harry groaned.  
  
"-Chapter 18, line 4 of section B. I can go to the library right now and-"  
  
When she got into one of her rants, there was usually no stopping her. Ron and Harry silently agreed that they would let her blow off a little steam.  
  
From across the hall, both boys heard a loud roar from the Slytherin table. Draco sat in the middle of the group, smiling faintly at some unheard joke.  
  
"The Ferret is up to something," frowned Ron, talking exclusively to Harry.  
  
"What are you talking about? He's always up to something," sighed Harry, leaning an elbow forward onto the table. He slowly pushed some food around his plate. "He's actually been rather quiet lately. Not as many taunts as usual," Harry pointed out. "I'm actually feeling kind of left out."  
  
"That doesn't mean a thing, and you know it," growled Ron. He turned in his seat to glare at Draco, who was listening to another conversation. The Slytherin seemed to subconsciously rub his shoulder. Ron's scowl deepened. "Something's not right about him. I can't put my finger on it, but I think that Ferret Boy is hiding something. Like that day in potions when he turned Jungle Boy on us."  
  
"Now you're being paranoid. Or have you seen something in your crystal ball?" smirked Harry.  
  
"Ugh, don't remind me. Thank Merlin we don't have to do that again. Séances aren't near as bad. All you have to do is sit there and pretend you're talking to someone. I think I'll try my Great Aunt Esther tomorrow, and we'll talk about the weather and the Cannons' chances for the cup this year."  
  
"Your Aunt liked Quidditch?"  
  
"How should I know?" shrugged Ron. "I've never met her. And more importantly, how would Trelawney know?"  
  
Their conversation abruptly ended when Draco, with no warning, stood up and practically ran out of the Great Hall, robes swirling behind him.  
  
"I knew it. The git is doing something right now! I betcha he has the Dark Mark, and he was just called!" said Ron gleefully in a conspiratorial whisper. Several other whispered conversations arose around them.  
  
"Or maybe," said Hermione sarcastically, "he has to use the bathroom. If it was the Dark Mark, then Professor Snape would be leaving too." Their heads turned towards the staff table. Snape was stabbing something on his plate with his knife, a determined and half-crazed look on his face. He didn't look like he was being called. Or is he was, then it was only the voices inside his head doing the talking.  
  
Ron gave her a half-guilty, half-skeptical look. He had forgotten that she was still there.  
  
The redhead picked up his fork and pointed at Hermione, as if to emphasize his point. "You'll be singing a different song when we find out that Malfoy's imperioed half the school population. Just wait," insisted Ron defensively.  
  
"Hermione, pass the potatoes, will ya?" said Harry. Ron and Hermione bickered all the time and Harry found it best if he just ignored them.  
  
Hermione picked up the dish, but nearly dropped it when a loud burst of laughter sounded from just a few feet down the table. The entire 6th year of Gryffindor were practically rolling in the aisles.  
  
"Finite Incantatem," tried somebody, but it did nothing to curb their laughter. It finally died down after several angry protests from the staff table. Ginny, stifling a giggle behind her hand, walked over when she caught Ron's questioning eye.  
  
"What's so funny?" asked Ron.  
  
"Malfoy," giggled Ginny gleefully.  
  
"What's so funny about him," Ron scowled.  
  
"Well," began Ginny, eyes lighting playfully. "Not so much him, but what we did to him."  
  
"Ginny, you didn't!" gasped Hermione, looking scandalized.  
  
"Nothing he didn't deserve Hermione. In fact, I think it was rather creative."  
  
Ron goggled at his sister and said in a mystified voice, "You pulled a prank on Malfoy? What'd you do?'  
  
"Fred and George are trying out some more of their wheezes, and they sent some stuff to me in the mail yesterday. After what he did to that poor Ravenclaw-"  
  
"That was pretty funny," admitted Ron begrudgingly.  
  
"-the Ravenclaws wanted a bit of revenge."  
  
"What happened," breathed Hermione, imagining horrible images of torture and abuse.  
  
"We hit him where it hurts," laughed Ginny. Several more Gryffindors had gathered, but Ginny was laughing so hard now that she was having trouble telling the story. Neville was watching Ginny with undisguised admiration.  
  
"It's a new powder, unnamed right now. We had Ernie MacMillion sprinkle some on Malfoy's hair today during Charms. It'll change his hair color every couple of hours or so, they think." Ron guffawed, and Harry had a hard time not falling off of his seat. "It's supposed to last about a week, but we're not quite sure."  
  
"Didn't he feel it in his hair?" questioned somebody from down the table.  
  
"Nope, it's completely weightless. Besides," smiled Ginny. "With all that gel that he still wears sometimes it'd be a wonder if he felt a bludger." Everyone laughed.  
  
"Hold on," said Harry, his forehead creasing. "Not to ruin the mood or anything, but I didn't see any color change when he first walked in. How come?"  
  
"That's because it was finally taking effect. It kind of flickers a bit before it becomes more permanent. Or else whoever put the powder in his hair would be obvious if it happened right then. Lucky for him that he noticed early on."  
  
Ron, grinning broadly, stood up and gave Ginny a huge bear hug. After an intense few seconds, she struggled from his grasp and walked shakily back to her friends, still gasping for breath.  
  
"Aww, my own little sister," said Ron in mock sadness. "She's just growing up so fast. Soon, she won't be my little girl anymore." He wiped a nonexistent tear from the corner of his eye. "Do you think that's the prank she was planning? The one where she needed the map?"  
  
"No, why would she need the map when the prank was done in class?"  
  
"Hmm," frowned Hermione, looking thoughtful. "Has she told you anything Ron? Any clues that we don't know about?"  
  
"No," he reported dispiritedly. "She doesn't want to ruin the surprise. Says it'll make Fred and George's jokes look like child's play."  
  
"Not likely," scoffed Harry.  
  
"I agree," commented Hermione. "They will be hard to top off. Although I'd like to see her try."  
  
"Let's just hope she doesn't get expelled, or Mum'll kill me.  
  
**************************************************  
  
Draco ran through the corridors, cloak flying behind him, avoiding any hall that even had the possibility of having people. Once in the Slytherin dorms, which were mercifully devoid of people, he locked himself in his dormitory, placing every anti-open spell he could think of on the door. Chest still heaving from the fright he had received, he finally forced himself to look in the mirror.  
  
It was worse than he had expected. His beautiful hair, once radiant and shining in its splendor, was now the most hideous shade of purple one could ever imagine. It wasn't just any normal purple either. It was the kind of color that you only saw old, overly large witches wearing on laundry day.  
  
Oh the humiliation! The indignity! And dammit! His eyes had changed color again. It just kept getting worse and worse. He could never go out in public again. It was settled. He'd lock himself in his dorm, and live there until this stupid spell wore off. Of course, it would be such a shame to deprive the world of such a splendid example of perfection. Unless...  
  
Draco ran to his trunk and searched frantically through its contents. Organization didn't matter anymore. His reputation was at stake. He haphazardly tossed his belongings across the room: robes, books, potions ingredients, Playwizard, chess set. Wait a minute! Playwizard?! He glanced around the room, then hurriedly threw the magazine back into the trunk. Now, back to business.  
  
About five minutes after his desperate search began, he triumphantly pulled out a small blue bottle and scanned the label.  
  
"Scutherworth's Magical Hair Tonic: guaranteed to make even the most horrendous hair terrors shine like new – for natural blonds only (and we mean it)."  
  
Draco sprinted for the showers, and locked those as well. Someone would pay for this.  
  
(2 hours later)  
  
"Draco, are you alright in there? It's been hours! What are you doing?" Blaise banged on the heavy oaken door again, and looked back at his two companions.  
  
"Do you think we should get a professor?" he suggested, and threw another angry look at the bathroom door.  
  
"And say what?" replied Goyle. Crabbe blinked and nodded in agreement. Or maybe it was just an eyelash, no one could ever be sure.  
  
"What's going on?" interrupted Andre Dolohov. "Why can't we use the bathroom? Did Peeves leave another skunk in there?" The tall boy sauntered forward, and looked questionably at his fellow 7th years.  
  
"No. Malfoy's been in there for at least two hours, and we don't know what to do. He won't talk to us," responded Blaise gloomily.  
  
Andre raised a dark eyebrow and declared "If Malfoy's been in there two hours, then he doesn't need a professor. He needs a girlfriend. I think you're all idiots for caring anyway. It's Malfoy, he'll be fine."  
  
"Just mind your own business Dolohov. No one asked you to come in and save the day," Blaise retorted hotly. He turned his back to the group and banged on the door once more.  
  
Andre looked mildly disgusted. "Is he crazy?" he asked Crabbe and Goyle, nodding towards Blaise. When he got no response, he threw up his hands and walked away, muttering angrily. "Honestly, all this fuss because Malfoy's got a digestive problem."  
  
Meanwhile, inside the bathroom.....  
  
Five washes later and Draco still couldn't get his hair back to its natural shade. Nothing was working! He had been reviewing what had happened in the Great Hall over and over again, and he just couldn't reach a conclusive answer. He had been eating, talking to Blaise when his head started to tingle and itch. After a quick glance at his reflection in his golden water goblet, he knew something was unquestionably wrong. It hadn't been until he had seen his reflection in his mirror that he realized how royally screwed he really was.  
  
Draco had heard no muttered spell, felt no potion, no nothing. So what could have happened? He would speak to Snape tonight, and maybe find a countercurse. But one thing he was sure about: Potter and Weasley had something to do with this, and it was time to bust up their little party.  
  
Malfoys simply do not wear purple. He had no idea how he would ever get out of this one.  
  
Feeling defeated and utterly humiliated, Draco dressed and exited the bathroom.  
  
He could hear the regular noise of the common room above him: the clank of fighting chess pieces, random shouts of spells and cries, and the crackling of the hearth. He was king of this room; he had no reason to be worried. Right?  
  
Oh Merlin, what did I do to deserve this?  
  
He braced himself and entered. Head held high, eyes icy; he threw open the doors, letting it crack loudly against the wall.  
  
A good entrance was everything.  
  
The room went silent. All eyes stared at him, so he glared right back, daring anyone to so much as comment about his hair. Faces swiftly turned back to whatever they were doing. It's kind of like when you see person on the street asking for money. Don't make eye contact, no matter what, or you're sure to be verbally assaulted. And Draco was ready for anyone that tried.  
  
Merlin pity even the house elf that stared too long. Draco WAS NOT in a good mood.  
  
"Draco!" cried Pansy, striding over and looking crestfallen. "Why did you change your hair?" The silence that had settled over the common room suddenly broke as if by magic, and the Slytherins turned to watch the exchange.  
  
Draco's eyes pleaded silently with Pansy, hoping that she would catch the hint. Her eyes widened. He remained suave.  
  
"Oh! Ohhhhhh, of course," said Pansy. She circled Draco, eyeing the top of his head as if getting a new perspective. "Yes, why didn't I realize before? You're starting a new fashion trend! You're going for the punk look, aren't you?"  
  
Relief washed over Draco like a bucket of warm water. He really did underestimate Pansy sometimes, and he was secretly grateful that she wasn't as dense as most people thought her. He played along.  
  
Pansy wheeled around to face the common room. "I heard it's all the rage in Beauxbatons, although I think I would have chosen a different color. Maybe blue would set off your eyes, or even red. What do you think Draco?"  
  
For you Pansy, right now, I'd do anything you wanted. Heck, I'd be the minister at Mrs. Norris and Filch's wedding.  
  
"Yes, maybe that would be better," agreed Draco, as if suddenly reconsidering his hairstyle. "Besides, I think I like green much more. I'll consider it after I get back from my meeting with Snape. But I don't want to be late. Please accept my apologies, Pansy."  
  
"Of course Draco." She opened her arms, clearly expecting a hug. Draco conceded and wrapped his arms around her, and felt her warm breath tickle his ear as she got closer.  
  
"You owe me one Draco Malfoy. I won't forget." She smirked at him and bid him good night.  
  
Hey, that's my smirk! But for now, he was just happy that he had come out of that room alive. The power arrangement of the Slytherin common room was a very fickle thing, and one could lose power easily if someone else viewed you as weak. He had to keep up appearances if he wanted to keep his position. But now he also owed Pansy a favor, like it or not. Draco had a feeling that this was going to come back and bite him in the arse.  
  
So then he went to meet Professor Snape, known deatheater and best friend of his father. His footsteps reverberated about the passageway, sounding a staccato rhythm that signified his impending doom with every footfall. All too soon, he came to the heavy door that opened into Snape's office. With a deep breath, he turned the knob and pushed the door forward.  
  
Next chapter: Draco talks (maybe fights/pleads/kills???) Snape. Anyone have a guess as to how it will go?  
  
So, this chapter? Transfiguration class? The hair changing – there's a lot I could do with this. Any suggestions? And who's excited about Draco's talk with Snape? I know I am at least. Reviews, as always, are taken with extreme enthusiasm and consideration.  
  
Reviews;  
  
Kiskool- This is a bit sooner than usual. I hope the chapter is up to your standards. Did you like the Trio's interaction? As you can see, they're getting a bit more suspicious. Who knows? We'll see if they find out anytime soon. Thanks for the review.  
  
Launigsiae: Muchos gracias! Gracias por la ayuda en la gramática. Nunca soy perfecto. Puedo utilizar siempre ayuda. ¡Deséeme la suerte! Tengo una entrevista oral en mi clase española mañana, así que conjeturo que veremos cómo va ésa. Gracias por las buenas palabras.  
  
Unknown: Hello again! First off, would you rather me call you by a name, or would you just prefer to be the mysterious Unknown? Haha, I think I like that. Wonderful that you like Narcissa and Lucius. I really was worried about that portrayal, but I'm glad we agree. I'm also in agreement about Draco's view of the light side. Your review has influenced me a bit for the next chapter (Snape stuff), just so you know – your review means a lot to me. I'm not quite sure on all of the reactions yet, but I'll have it figured out soon. Thanks for the help, it's ALWAYS appreciated.  
  
Tiffany&Co.: Welcome back. I tried to include more cunning, or should I say, contemplative thoughts for Draco. You were right, I guess sometimes his inner voice did seem a bit childish at times, mainly for comic effect, but he can't be completely one sided. So thanks for the suggestion, I hope this is a bit better. I agree that Lucius and Narcissa would hide their love, mainly in public, but I also think that to be a real couple they would at least have to show a little affection for each other. That doesn't mean that they have to fall all over each other. But it would be private, and just for themselves. I don't think Draco would ever see this side of his parents, and if so, only seldom. You're right, Draco normally is very cold and calculating, but my excuse is that he is changing a lot, and he's not going to be spiteful to someone if he thinks he can use them. And Hagrid certainly has knowledge that can be used. Still, I tried to make him as superior as possible without driving Hagrid away. Thanks for the compliments, and I hope I answered your questions. Feel free to flame me in your next review if you still don't understand, and I'll do my best to clarify. 


	8. AntiCareer Day

Chapter 8: Anti-Career Day  
  
Professor Snape's office was much as Draco had remembered it from the last time. Then again, last time he had been here he hadn't had super senses. It had always been so dark that he could never really make out what the room contained. But, after seeing what was in it, Draco decided that it had been a good thing, as most of the items were slimy, disgusting, horrifying, or a combination of the three. He didn't let his eyes linger too long.  
  
Snape looked up briefly. "Come in, and take a seat," he said gruffly, and resumed his work.  
  
None of the objects ever changed places, with the exception of a quill or a stack or two of papers. For a scientist, Snape was very organized. Everything else was tediously labeled and stored upon shelves and shelves that contained potions ingredients which lined the walls. The only light that was present shined from a glowing orb that hovered silently over Snape's desk. Natural light was nice and all, but it had a tendency to ruin potions ingredients; much like sunlight can fade a good painting. The ingredients could lose their magical properties, which is why potions classes were almost always held in dungeons.  
  
A fine layer of mist had collected around the ceiling, but it was anyone's guess as to what it actually was. If there was any decent amount of proper lighting, Draco would have liked to examine the mist more closely to satisfy his innate curiosity.  
  
Once more, the scent nearly overwhelmed him when Draco walked in. It was putrid, and that was putting it kindly. Although that would make sense, considering how most potions ingredients are remains of organic material in some way. But this didn't mean Draco had to like it, even if Potions was one of his better subjects.  
  
Draco sat down in an old and considerably weathered chair across from Snape, but did nothing to relax. He could feel his wand, hidden in his right sleeve and just asking to be pulled out, and he forced himself to focus on the man before him. The Slytherin couldn't afford a mishap, not when in the company of one of Voldemort's Deatheaters. Even though he had known this man all of his life, and even though Draco actually liked the professor (when Snape wasn't trying to kill him or hand him over to Voldemort, because that's surely what was happening now), he knew it could all change. And Draco would be ready.  
  
Snape was hunched over his desk like usual, with only the faintest portion of light hitting his sallow face. He was grading papers once more, but this time he didn't look nearly as vindictive. It must be the Ravenclaws' homework, decided Draco. If it had belonged to a Gryffindor, then Snape would certainly be in a much better mood. As it was, he had very few mistakes to correct and even fewer malicious comments to write. Snape finished writing a single sentence, replaced the quill into its holder, and set the paper aside. Only when these tasks were finished did he look up.  
  
Snape glanced up then paused, and let his eyes slowly travel from the boy's face to the crown of his head, and then studied him for several seconds. Draco sat tensely as Snape's greasy brow drew into a severe scowl.  
  
"Unless I'm mistaken Draco, and you actually changed your hair to that ridiculous color, I believe someone has gotten the better of you," Snape stated as he raised a single dark eyebrow. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back into his seat, eyeing Draco the way an uncle would look at naughty nephew. A tight smile quirked his thin lips, barely visible to those who didn't know him.  
  
Draco drew a thin breath. Snape didn't look like he was preparing to attack. Then again, that smile, that gleam in his eyes...he was probably playing with Draco – luring him into a false sense of security, and as soon as Draco was comfortable, the professor would surely attack. Snape was preparing to kill him, and he was enjoying it!  
  
Oh, I've got you now professor, thought Draco deviously. Just try and get the upper hand, and I'll become a force to reckon with.  
  
Draco drew his hands together and locked eyes with Professor Snape, waiting for him to make the next move. He would prove that he wasn't a coward. Every next move would have to be cold and calculated. No mercy could be shown. He pretended to be nonchalant, and tried to forget about his imminent death that was sure to come within the next few moments. He forced a sheepish smile to his lips, although felt he like doing anything but smile right now.  
  
"I'm afraid I'm not really sure what happened to my hair. It just...happened, while I was eating. And it was all rather embarrassing." Draco grimaced and drew a hand through his hair, as if he was making sure that it was still there.  
  
Now it was Snape's turn to be confused. Black brows knit together in puzzlement. He leaned back in his chair and crossed a leg over a knee, resting his hands before him. "What do you mean "happened"? Either someone did it to you, or you did it yourself, and I highly doubt you did that Draco," declared Snape, with a measured amount of good natured contempt. "So the logical conclusion would be that it was a prank, most probably a potion or a charm. And since you came to my office with the color still intact, would I also be correct to assume that it does not come out with a simple shampoo?"  
  
He probably knows exactly how my hair changed color, determined Draco. Snape probably planned the whole thing, knowing that I would ask him for help, and therefore wouldn't be suspicious of the meeting tonight. Oh, very sneaky once again Professor. And teaming with the Gryffindors for this plan? Low, but tricky. You've planned well, reflected Draco silently.  
  
"I assume so, and yes, it doesn't come out with shampoo no matter how many times I wash it" conceded Draco as he reasoned with himself. Agree with him, and he'll be caught off guard. Even boost his ego if you have to, as long as you can get the upper hand. Yes, it's demeaning, and no, no one else would have to know that you were sucking up.  
  
"Sir," said Draco, feigning the utmost sincerity. "With your vast amount of knowledge of potions and their uses, do you think you could possibly find an antidote? I'm sure my father would be most grateful as well, and I could even arrange a sum of money in exchange for your highly skilled and professional assistance."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous Malfoy. I can't let a member of Slytherin walk around with such a revolting hair color such as yours, even if he was stupid enough to put himself in the position in the first place. You should be on your guard from now on."  
  
Snape cradled his chin in his hand and stared at Draco with his dark piercing eyes for a few intense seconds, making Draco extremely uncomfortable, yet meeting his gaze all the same. Finally, Snape took a deep breath, and quickly reached under his desk.  
  
Draco stiffened, knowing what was coming. So Snape was going to try and get rid of him early, huh? No time for chit chat professor? That won't do.  
  
Draco bolted from the chair, so fast that it tipped over. The boy was quick on his feet, and had his wand out in the split second that it took for Snape to look back up. Snape's eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly recovered and ducked (or fell, no one could really be sure) behind his desk as Draco shot a slashing hex straight at the potion master's ashen face.  
  
Draco ran for cover and dived behind a shelf full of boxes that smelled heavily of fish. It was either that or duck behind the potted plant (it provided little actual coverage from hexes), so he begrudgingly chose the fish.  
  
He was panting heavily and prepared himself for a direct attack. But Snape wasn't moving. A cold silence hung in the air, and only the sound of his own breathing reached his ears. In fact, he didn't even hear Snape's heartbeat. Had he actually hit him with the first hex? Even if the hex had found its mark, Snape should have been recovering by now.  
  
Draco tensed. He could have sworn he heard a noise, but he wasn't positive. It was a pop, like an apparition pop, but that was impossible. His senses were playing tricks on him.  
  
Draco slid across the floor, forsaking the fish shelf, and crouched behind another one of the shelves in case Snape happened to be playing dead. And there was only one way to find out. With a mighty Wingardium Leviosa, Draco lifted the heavy wooden desk into the air and sent it hurling against the back shelves in an attempt to root Snape out of his hiding place. The desk crashed against the shelves, which gave an impressive crack as wood and hangings were wrenched from their ancient stone bindings. The sound must have unquestionably alarmed every student in the dungeons, but silence was of little matter right now. Papers flew in all directions as glass shattered and cracked and potions ingredients oozed out of their broken jars onto the stone floor. Liquids sizzled like acid and devoured whatever it hit, yet Snape was no where in sight.  
  
With the desk gone, Draco had a clear view of the floor. He searched about anxiously. Nothing.  
  
Draco nearly became frantic. No body, no Snape, no blood, no bloody sign of him! And he couldn't just leave. Snape was probably lying in wait as soon as he walked out the door. But how did he leave? You can't apparate in Hogwarts, it's a well known fact. And Snape couldn't have used a trap door, or he would have heard it. And Snape definitely didn't retreat, because that would be a good thing, and good things never happened to Draco Malfoy.  
  
His ears pricked and he sucked in a quick breath as he heard the grate of a boot against stone behind him. Too late, he whipped his body around only to come face to face with Snape, who had a wand pointed straight as his chest and a look of murder on his pale face. All too soon, Snape opened his ugly mouth, lips curling above uneven yellow teeth, and shouted his spell. Draco felt his body jerk and become rigid as he fell to the ground, knowing that he was defeated and completely helpless. His last conscious thought was of a sallow face glaring down at him, and Draco silently hoped that he would wake up from this nightmare.

"Enervate."  
  
Draco blinked slowly and lifted his chin from his chest. His eyes were still blurry and he tried to focus them. If he could see himself now, he was sure that he'd see some slack-jawed idiot looking off into space. It was a good thing no one was here to see him in this state. Except Snape.  
  
"Just wait a few moments and don't try to move too quickly, or you'll seriously regret it.  
  
Ugh. He had a pounding headache, and some black blob in front of him was talking. Was that Professor Snape? Then again, that black blob did seem to have a distinguishable face, with an unusually large nose. There, his vision was finally clearing. Definitely Snape. But he didn't look too happy, and that was never a good sign. Indeed, Snape seemed to be sneering more than usual, which most people would find to be quite a feat.  
  
Draco realized that he had come back to consciousness in a seriously different predicament than when he had left it. Now he saw, too close for comfort, why Snape had told him not to move.  
  
He was sitting in a chair, rather ordinary in nature, with the exception of three metal bars that restrained him: one across his chest, one over his ankles, and another that went over his lap and ended at the arm rests, restraining both of his wrists (which were bound with leather straps). Some sort of heat emanated from the bars, and Draco was pretty sure what the bars were made of. He felt like an ant trapped under a magnifying glass. All hail Severus Snape: Master of the Do-It-Yourself Torture Chamber. Victims not included.  
  
Snape had rebuilt some of his destroyed and ruined office, although most of his potions ingredients, glasses, and tattered books remained in shambles. His desk, however, remained intact, and he sat behind it once more, presenting a very imposing and equally greasy figure.  
  
"Shall I begin, or would you wish to," asked Snape in a very calm voice. His arms rested on his desk, hands together with the fingers making a small pyramid before him.  
  
Draco watched his professor for any sign of attack or trickery. But, seeing as Draco was already completely helpless, he gave up and decided to have a civil conversation. As it was, Draco felt like Snape was about to have some sort of torture session.  
  
"First off, are you going to kill me anytime soon, or is this chair just for entertainment purposes," began Draco in a much more confident voice than he actually felt. "It's highly uncomfortable, and my wrists are chafing. Isn't this a bit over the top?" He raised a pale eyebrow and looked expectantly at Snape.  
  
Snape's eyes snapped wide with anger. "If I may remind you Draco, you were the one that attacked ME. Why should I release you when I just narrowly missed getting a permanent haircut?"  
  
"ME?! I wasn't the first one to attack," protested Draco defensively. "You were the one reaching for your wand. I was just reacting."  
  
"Wand?" An expression of realization passed across Snape's face. "Since when do I keep my wand in a desk drawer?" he answered. Draco glared angrily at Snape's condescending look. Snape reached into his robes and pulled out his wand, lifted it into the air, and said "Accio scissors" in a voice that made Draco grind his teeth in annoyance.  
  
"This is what I was looking for," stated Snape, and he slammed the scissors back onto his desk. "I wanted a lock of your hair to test, so I could HELP you. Idiot boy." He waited for Draco to respond.  
  
Now Draco was confused, and more than just a little humiliated.  
  
"Alright, so you were reaching for scissors. But why use scissors, when you could have used your wand for the same purpose? It's a bit suspicious, _Professor_."  
  
Snape stared at Draco, with a glare that just shouted "You're an idiot."  
  
"I don't see how you've come all the way to Advanced Potions. I thought I was a good judge of stupidity, but obviously there are some people who surprise you."  
  
Draco glowered.  
  
"You can't use magic on something that is already affected by magic if you want to test it in a potions experiment. The magical properties of whatever you're testing could change if you expose it to other magics. In other words Draco, if you're too slow to follow me tonight," said Snape smoothly, "I can't cut your hair with magic or the chemical properties of whatever changed your hair color could also change. Then the antidote would be tainted, and you could possibly LOSE all of your hair instead of simply changing the color."  
  
Draco gulped as his mask of defiance slipped to one of befuddlement and apprehension. Having a different hair color was suddenly sounding a lot better than losing his hair.  
  
Snape resumed his look of smug arrogance and smirked in a very irritating fashion, at least for someone in Draco's position.  
  
So Snape wasn't trying to kill him? Capture him? Cut him up into tiny pieces and feed him to the skrewts?  
  
"OK. You were right, I was wrong," admitted Draco begrudgingly, struggling ever so slightly against the bars. It seemed as if they were becoming tighter by the minute. "And what the hell are these bars doing," finished Draco with a shout, becoming progressively more frustrated by the second.  
  
"They're quite simple to be honest, and not usually my style. But I find even the most uncomplicated of methods are usually the best. The more you struggle, the tighter the silver bars become. I thought you would have familiarized yourself with the sensation by now."  
  
"What do you do? Keep one in handy in case a werewolf happens to come by and you need to torture it?" asked Draco disgustedly. "You're bound to get a chocolate frog wizard card for that one."  
  
Snape sniffed indignantly. "There are better uses for my talents. Besides, better that than being stuck in that chair."  
  
Snape gracefully moved to the front of his desk and leaned back against it. He crossed his arms over his black-clad chest and inclined his head down towards Draco, letting his black locks fall forward and frame his face. He didn't seem quite as angry as he had before, which was a good indication to say the least.  
  
"Alright, let's back up a bit," suggested Draco. "You called me to your office, most probably for heinous acts of torture, degradation, or maybe a little of both. Sound correct so far?"  
  
Snape lifted an eyebrow in amusement, but said nothing.  
  
"Alright...so you called me in, made some small talk, and made a very suspicious looking move which I interpreted-"  
  
"Wrongly," interjected Snape.  
  
"-which I interpreted wrongly," Draco emphasized, rolling his eyes, "and I reacted in a way that I saw fit. Now, you've got me trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey and at your mercy. Is there anything else that I..." Draco's words trailed off, as Snape's own smirking countenance slowly turned into a smile, yellow teeth appearing behind a grinning mouth. But what really stopped Draco was when Snape's Cheshire grin turned into a chuckle, then a full out laugh that shook his entire body. He leaned against his desk for support as his laughing wound down.  
  
Draco was angry, if nothing else. He didn't like to be laughed at, especially when he had no idea why someone was laughing. Making fun of people actually did give him a lot of pleasure, as he had plenty of practice, but this was plain infuriating.  
  
"Excuse me," he yelled in the rudest voice he could muster, which wasn't difficult at all. He was stuck in a werewolf death chair, and Snape was having the time of his life. "Could we get on with the torture, or are you going to stop laughing and release me?"  
  
"Calm down," demanded Snape shortly. With a flick of his wand, the bars flew open and dissolved into nothingness with a hiss, releasing Draco from his prison of humiliation. He was grateful.  
  
"You're always so impatient, just like your father. Merlin knows how you've managed to survive this long."  
  
"With my piles of money and boyishly good looks?" suggested Draco.  
  
"Point taken." Snape crossed behind his heavy oaken desk and sat down tiredly in his chair.  
  
"So," he began. "The reason you're here." Draco looked on expectantly as Snape paused to collect his thoughts.  
  
"I guess Dumbledore's already given you the talk, correct?"  
  
"You mean the one where he says you have power and you have to use it properly? You have a choice, something like that?"  
  
Snape looked at Draco with a bemused expression. "Yes, something like that. He loves that speech, uses it when he can. But the point is, he was right, and you have to take him seriously. I know by your look right now that you're confused, which is why I've called you down, hopefully to answer some of your questions."  
  
"So I guess it's a safe assumption that Dumbledore told you about " Draco frowned.  
  
"You mean the werewolfism. Yes, I know. I probably knew before Dumbledore knew." Snape pushed a lock of hair away from his eyes and reclined farther back.  
  
"Does everyone know my secret?" bellowed Draco incredulously, leaning forward and gripping the arms of the chair. "Hagrid, Pompfrey, Dumbledore, McGonagall, you. Is there anyone else I'm leaving out?"  
  
"Voldemort knows."  
  
These words brought a cold sweat to the back of Draco's neck. He felt his mouth go dry.  
  
"And what does that mean to me?" he frowned. He hated himself for that small trimmer of cold fear that ran down his back like ice water. If he couldn't even talk about Voldemort without becoming afraid, what was he going to do when if he actually had to face him?  
  
"It means," answered Snape gravely, "that like all men, you have to make a choice: to be your own man and make your own future, or to let others rule your life and make the decisions for you. And don't for one second think that you don't have a choice to make. I presume that your father has already tried to persuade you to one side, has he not?"  
  
Draco nodded as his brows drew into a severe scowl. "He can be quite...persuasive," confirmed Draco, rekindling old memories. His scowl deepened. He knew he was about to dig his own grave, but Draco just couldn't let it go unspoken. "But what does it matter to you? You're just as bad as my father, or any other Deatheater – you've killed, you've tortured, and for what? You're a Deatheater, for Merlin's sake! What gives you the right to preach to me, when you're just as much of a hypocrite?"  
  
There, he had said it. If he wasn't going to be killed before, it would surely happen now.  
  
Snape appeared to become angry for about half a second, but his rage quickly subsided as he considered the question seriously. Draco couldn't believe his luck! Snape paused for several moments and an intent expression settled on his features, as if he were in deep thought. Finally, Snape spoke.  
  
"I was once the same way as you were Draco," the professor admitted. "Full of ambition. With lots of hopes and lots of thoughts about what I thought was right and wrong. And too stupid to know when to keep my mouth shut." He looked pointedly at Draco. "But the one difference between you and I was that I never had anyone sit me down and tell me to slow down, because after I started going there was no stopping me. And I didn't realize how much muck and mire I'd trapped myself in until it was too late to pull myself out. Voldemort is like quicksand. The more you struggle, the more you're weighed down and the farther down you sink, until there's nothing left but to give in and let yourself drown. Very few can save themselves, and none without help."  
  
So Snape _HAD_ assumed that he was going to join Voldemort. He guessed that it was a reasonable assumption, although Draco kind of felt put out by it. He thought Snape would have given him a bit more credit than that.  
  
"I have many bad memories, and there are many things that I've done that I'm not proud of. Sometimes at night I wake up in a cold sweat, and I can still hear the screams of the innocent women and children that have died at my hands. I can warn you now that anything Voldemort could offer you is never worth that price, and is for his benefit alone. If you become worthless to him, he won't spend the extra energy or effort to keep you around. I realized this, which is why," Snape took a deep breath, knowing that he was putting his life in Draco's hands, "which is why I took control and made my own choices, by siding with Dumbledore."  
  
You could have heard a pin drop. Draco had heard the rumors from his fellow Slytherins for years, but had never really believed them. Snape was a Deatheater, they all knew that. But then there were others. Snape was a double agent, but he was passing Dumbledore false information. Snape was passing false information to Voldemort and working for Dumbledore. Snape was lying to both Dumbledore and Voldemort and planned to take over the wizarding world himself. Snape was a vampire, and had been for years, and was planning to make the entire world a population of slaves. Snape wore women's underwear. Snape wore women's underwear, but only on Saturdays. It had all been a load of nonsense and had gotten wilder as the years wore on, until now. Draco wondered how many of those rumors were actually true.  
  
"So," tried Draco. "You worked for Voldemort, but then started working for Dumbledore while under the guise of being a Deatheater? Because of your conscience?"  
  
"One reason of many," he informed. "Conscience, yes. But I, like any other self respecting man, don't like to risk my life for a man that considers me worthless. I'm too smart to continue like that, and so are you."  
  
Draco pondered for a moment. "Alright, I don't want to be anyone's lapdog. I've known that for a while. But that doesn't solve my predicament. If I don't join Voldemort, it's a sure bet that he'll kill me, or torture me beyond recognition. Is there anything I could do, anyway I could avoid Voldemort?"  
  
"I highly doubt it," Snape snorted, and reached up to scratch the side of his face. At Draco's despondent look however, he quickly added "The most we can hope for now is to keep you safe here, under Dumbledore's protection."  
  
"You mean hide?" stated Draco bluntly. How cowardly and degrading, thought Draco, yet he silently thought that it was probably his only way of survival right now, dignified or not.  
  
"Hide is such a strong word," said Snape with a wave of his slender hand. "Think of it as 'waiting until the opportune moment'. You need a proper defense to prepare against an attack. If we ever do make a move, we'll use stealth and cunning. None of that 'running in, swords flashing and banners waving' crap that Gryffindors so love."  
  
"How can you use stealth when the man you're fighting against can read minds," asked Draco glumly. He rested his elbow on the chair arm and his chin in his hand and looked at his professor through glazed eyes. It was getting quite late.  
  
"Minor details to work out. Don't underestimate your enemies, but don't underestimate your allies either," said Snape with satisfaction.  
  
"Does father know? About the lycanthropy?" He had been dreading this answer almost as much as the previous one.  
  
"Lucius? Most probably."  
  
"That's it then. He gave my life to Voldemort at birth, what's to stop him from doing it again," cried Draco. He had a lot of pent up anger.  
  
"Don't blame Lucius completely," Snape reminded. "I have a feeling that he will be most unpleased with this turn of events. But back to the matter at hand. It's getting late, and after tonight I most definitely think that you need some rest." He shifted in his seat. "Do you want to mention any of this to Dumbledore, or keep quiet on the matter?"  
  
"You mean that I won't go running to Voldemort the first chance I get?" said Draco, his mouth curving with amusement. He would just love to see the look on that crazy old codger's face if he found out that half of the Slytherins were already planning to join Old Voldy as soon as they became of age. "Could you tell him? Every time I talk to him, he goes off on some weird tangent and starts babbling nonsense."  
  
"Yes, he has a tendency to do that."  
  
"I was supposed to talk to him earlier, but I guess I've just been putting it off." Draco rubbed his forehead, collecting his thoughts.  
  
"The headmaster probably knows as much, and wanted to give you a chance to make up your mind. But remember, he's not asking you to do anything for him. He only wants to help."  
  
Draco narrowed his eyes. "No favor is for free."  
  
"You're quite correct, and there will probably come a time when he asks a favor from you, but for now, I think it best if you focus your attention on the next full moon, which is approaching quickly, and how you want to deal with it. Have you worked on the details with Poppy?"  
  
"Yes, some of them." Draco didn't like to speak on the subject too much. In truth, he really had no idea what he was going to do on the next full moon, but he wasn't comfortable talking to Snape about it. He kind of felt like it was one of those taboo subjects that you're not supposed to talk about when people like your professor or your parents are around – like Sex Ed. or the stuff you do when you go off to university. It also made him uncomfortable knowing that more people knew his secret, and even the walls had ears at Hogwarts.  
  
"Wait a second," said Draco, suddenly thinking back. "How did you sneak up on me after I almost hexed you? I could have sworn that you never moved, and then you came up on me without a sound."  
  
Snape smirked, but a sharp eye could tell that it held no malice. "You have your secrets, I have mine. I believe that's a conversation for another time."  
  
All these secrets. But Snape wasn't budging, so Draco decided not to burrow any deeper. For now.  
  
"Is there anything else on your mind?"  
  
"Not that I can think of."  
  
"Good. One last thing then. Dumbledore has sent a letter out, perhaps to get you some help in the next coming months."  
  
"Help?" sneered Draco. "I'm perfectly fine on my own. I always have been."  
  
"I don't doubt your ability to survive, Draco. But you could make it easier on yourself and everyone around you."  
  
Draco suddenly felt guilty. He had never thought about what kind of burden he was putting on other people, only about himself. Considering it now, it must be difficult for Snape to make the Wolfsbane potion or for Poppy to work with an endangering patient, or for Dumbledore to risk his position as headmaster to keep him at school. Very guilty indeed.  
  
Draco relinquished. "Okay. Who's coming to help?"  
  
"I'm not positive, but I've got a pretty good idea whom," sneered Snape.  
  
"Lupin," sighed Draco dejectedly.  
  
"Lupin," Snape seethed. "But as much as I hate to admit it, Lupin knows his subject matter, and he'll be able to help you through some of the tougher aspects, I suppose. You won't have long to learn, as Lupin is quite busy doing things for Dumbledore (Draco didn't ask what, although he was curious as to what an aging werewolf could do in the fight against Voldemort), but what you do learn will be invaluable. Eventually, we'll set up a schedule. When's a good night of the week for you?"  
  
"Not tonight. I've got detention with McGonagall. The whole owlery has to be cleaned, without magic. In fact, I'm already late." Draco stared gloomily at his feet, dreading the coming hours, and then rose to leave.  
  
"Really," said Snape, in a way that made Draco stop in his tracks. He turned around to face his professor, whose face took on a contemplative and cunning look.  
  
"I've got an idea. That is, if you don't mind bending the rules a bit?"  
  
"Bending? I don't mind breaking them as long as I don't get caught," declared Draco with a grin. He smiled craftily and sat back down.

* * *

Reviews  
  
---------------------------------------------- Schnoogle only- SilverMoonWolf- Thanks so much to silvermoonwolf, my one and only reviewer! Thanks so much, I can't express in words how happy I was to see at least one review! What did you think of Snape's reaction? Any good? Is there something you would have rather have seen, or something you want to see in the future? I'll do my best to work it in, I actually really like requests like that. ---------------------------------------------------  
  
_Hedwigowl:_ Best and funniest?! I'm so happy! And very glad that you like it. Any suggestions to make it funnier?  
  
_Mysterious Unknown:_ That name gets better and better every time I read it. Hehe. You're right, it is hard to remember that these are just kids. I also think that with the atmosphere, though, many of them have matured beyond their years, so I think they almost have a mini-society going on in a place like Slytherin. I really liked your suggestion, although I never really gave it much thought. But now that I do, it makes perfect sense that the houses would hide behind their insecurities by compensating. Postlist? I'm assuming you mean a list of people to email when I get a new chapter? Yes, I keep a list, and if you'd like to be on it, please leave your email, or send me one. Happy reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, expect the next one soon.  
  
_Abbi:_ Thanks! Yeah, keeping Draco IC is a bit tough, but I like a challenge! Thanks so much for the encouragement, it really helps to keep me going.  
  
_Annaormur:_ So nice of you to say so. Do you like his personality changes, or is there something that you think could be changed? Any input is great, and if you like it as it is, all the better. Thanks for the input.  
  
_SylantSpeaker:_ Uh oh. I think I've royally pissed off one of my reviewers/readers. All I can say: thanks so much for being a new reviewer, and I'm sorry to keep you hanging so long. This cliffhanger really isn't so bad, is it? But I'm glad that you think I've got a good thing going, I love reading reviews like that! Cool name by the way... sounds like you should be some sort of secret agent or something, huh? Ok, enough of the cheese, and I really am grateful. Any suggestions? Scenes you'd like to see? I love writing for my reviewers.  
  
_Launigsiae:_ So sorry, it's late and my brain's not working, so I'm going to write in English right now. Forgive me? My Spanish exam went pretty well, thanks for asking. Something funny- they played a really stupid Sting song in Spanish, then expected us to answer questions about it. Needless to say, it's not my best area. But it's over! Thanks for the great words also. The full moon is coming up very soon. Not the next chapter, but the one after, and that's a promise. (Here's a secret- I've already written the next chapter!) I hope you keep reviewing! (:**_AN:_** Phew, and that's over. I've had the worst writer's block – I think I rewrote this chapter a dozen times, trying to keep Draco and Snape in character. Did I succeed? How about the attack scene at the beginning? The interaction between them? Please, any feedback is greatly appreciated, as it will affect how I write coming chapters.  
  
Next chapter: A midnight rendezvous with the Golden Trio – finally. Draco outwits a few Gryffindors and has a run in with some evil arachnids. 


	9. Midnight Rendezvous

Chapter 9: Midnight Rendezvous 

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter Franchise. If I did, I would have billions of dollars, and I would be writing this fic from a Ferrari (with wireless – not quite sure how that works out, but if I ever get a Ferrari, I would figure out how to put wireless in my car. In fact, I would figure out how to have autopilot in my car, so I could type and drive at the same time. Better yet! I would have the voice activated typing system so I could drive and talk/type at the same time! Hehe, I'm so clever. And full of it.) instead of sitting here on my bed.**

**AN: This update was a bit faster huh? My writer's block is unblocked right now, so hopefully that will last for a long time. This chapter has actually been written for months, but I found that it didn't quite fit yet. I think I added three chapters more than what I had originally planned. This fic just keeps getting longer and longer, but I hope I'm not losing any readers. I'm quite happy with this chapter, especially since I didn't like the last one as much. And Draco finally sees Harry and Ron again – for better or for worse. Here's a nice long chapter, dedicated to all of my reviewers, but most importantly my Beta reader. **

**Thanks a ton to my new Beta reader, Sil, who's helped me tremendously on this chapter. **

This was bad.

Draco was late, and he knew it. He had meant to take a short rest, a resting of the eyes really. Unfortunately, his 'naps' were usually three hour- long siestas, and at the most inopportune times at that.

So he ran, as silently as his feet could carry him, to Gryffindor Tower. He had a pretty good idea of where it was located, and if he could get to Potter and Weasley in time, he could follow them to the location of the secret passage.

It had been more difficult than usual to leave the dorms. Crabbe and Goyle hadn't been a problem. They had each been very busy. Goyle had been watching a water stain on the dungeon floor with interest. Crabbe, the smarter of the two, had been attempting to count the number of stones on the ceiling. His eyes would go cross-eyed if he stared at a single stone for too long. He sometimes forgot which number came after the other, requiring him to be completely silent and think for several minutes, and then he would have to start all over again. The two would be busy for hours.

Blaise Zabini, however, had been more difficult. He had just been ready to leave the common room when Blaise had appeared on the stone steps leading from the boys' dormitory.

"Where are you going? It's late," he yawned, stretching his arms over his disheveled red hair.

"Late night study session," Draco replied, picking up some random books from one of the dark mahogany tables. Blaise was a good friend, one of his only true and most trustworthy friends, and Draco had qualms about lying to him. But the less Blaise knew, the safer he would be, and Draco was averse to losing his trust.

The Zabinis, though not Death Eaters, were supporters of the dark arts. Blaise was one of the few friends that his father approved of.

Blaise seemed to lose most of his sleepiness. "You expect me to believe that?" He expertly lifted a red eyebrow and eyed Draco disapprovingly.

"Do you have to pry so much, Zabini? Shouldn't you be sleeping or studying instead?' He was going to miss his opportunity if he didn't leave soon.

Blaise looked intently at Draco, unwavering. "Do you actually want me to answer that, or should I just glare?"

"Fine." Draco gave a heavy sigh. "Potter and Weasley were planning something tonight. I'm just going to see what they're up to."

Blaise nodded, staring at the floor, then he looked up, curiously. "Need any help?"

"With those two morons? I think I've got it. Simply a little vengeance tonight, nothing more."

"Isn't it always?" He nodded again then turned to go, and wished Draco good luck.

"Blaise," Draco called. The other Slytherin, one foot already on the step, turned and cast a questioning glance back.

"How did you know that I was lying?"

The redhead smiled and pointed at the books. "G'nite," he grinned.

"Good night." Puzzled, Draco looked at the front covers, and blanched at what he saw. The books were entitled _Volume I: 101 Ways to Get a Guy to Notice You_, and _Volume II: 102 Tips to Keeping the Man You Love_. "Checked out by Pansy Parkinson!"

He hurriedly threw the books under a pillow and struggled not to retch as he left the common room.

No matter how many times Draco wandered the passageways of Hogwarts, he could never quite shake the uneasy feeling that seemed to settle in the pit of his stomach when he was walking alone. Maybe it was the layer of dust that seemed to settle itself overnight on the suits of armor, or maybe it was the ephemeral glow that appeared to radiate off the moon that night. Either way, it gave the castle a decidedly ethereal, eerie feel. And, like freshly fallen snow, the silvery beams found every nook and cranny, illuminating the castle.

He began to hear footsteps, lightly at first, and then they became distinguishable. Two sets of footsteps, slowly approaching each other. As he came closer, he could distinguish the smell of potions ingredients and cauldron smoke. It was obviously Professor Snape out for his usual night patrol, although he wasn't sure who the other person was. They were coming from the opposite direction, and too far away, even for his keen sense of smell. Draco guessed quickly when the sharp _clap, clap _of a women's heels and the huffy breathing started to echo loudly.

"Severus!" rang McGonagall's shrill voice through the crisp night air. "We have a situation to discuss, and don't you dare say that you took no part in it!"

She huffed all the way to Snape, eyes stern and accusing and fists clenched tightly, most likely to prevent the urge to strangle.

Draco held his breath and peeked around the corner, standing so close to the wall that his cheek scraped against the stone. If Snape found him now, then it was a sure bet that there would be a new jar in his potions lab labeled "Minced Draco Malfoy." He might have time for a quick look before Potter and Weasel came.

The professors must have been more that two hundred feet down that hallway, but Draco could see them as if it were daylight. Having superior senses were becoming more useful now.

McGonagall's _lumos _spell shone like a candle, highlighting her aged face and graying hair. Snape had stopped and was facing her with what could be assumed as a look of innocence. McGonagall appeared angry, and although Draco respected his Head of House, he anticipated hearing someone besides himself being ridiculed by the Gryffindor matriarch.

"I know," she fumed through tight lips, her wand tip inching closer to Snape's nose, "that you were in some way responsible for Draco Malfoy's detention, or should I say lack there of! Really, Severus, as Head of Slytherin, you're supposed to set an example for the children you teach; not play about using childish antics," she finished, and continued to glare. She would have stomped her foot if it was proper.

The Slytherin didn't balk at this exclamation. "Minerva, are you implying that Mr. Malfoy didn't complete his detention?"

"You know exactly what I mean. He cheated! He sent house elves to do the work for him, which is specifically in violation of the rules of the detention."

Snape appeared to muse for several seconds as he cocked his head to one side. At last, he said "Now, if Mr. Malfoy was correct in relating it to me, you said that he must clean the owlery without the use of his own magic. Is this correct?"

"Yes..." she replied, eyebrows furrowing behind rounded glasses. It sounded like Snape was about to outwit her, again.

"Then I see no reason to punish the boy since he didn't use any magics. All Mr. Malfoy did was beseech the house elves to assist him in cleaning the owlery, which clearly requires no magic whatsoever. Do you not agree?"

McGonagall's eyes bored into Snape's like daggers, and Draco was sure that Snape was going to spontaneously combust right there and then.

There seemed to be no way she could argue, since Snape had no flaws in his suave logic. And she also knew that Draco hadn't coerced or bribed the house elves like you would have to do with students, because they're always so happy to please that they fall over their own feet trying to hurry.

She'd been bested, but Draco could tell by the look in her eyes that the matter had not ended. McGonagall relinquished in the end, promising that she would be more specific and put everything in writing (with witnesses) for every detention that she gave to the Slytherins, but by that part of her tirade, Draco was running to be on time to catch Potter and Weasley.

This was bad. He was almost late, and the halls were so bright that it might as well have been Christmas. Draco just simply couldn't lose this opportunity to humiliate and hold power over the Golden Trio.

These conditions would make it easy for Filch to find anyone lurking in the halls at this time of night. It was a good thing the Tower was deeper inside the castle, or he would have a difficult time hiding from Wonder Boy and his sidekicks, heightened senses or not.

He slackened his pace when he began to hear muted voices coming from one of the intersecting corridors. Draco had a general idea of where Gryffindor Tower was located, but he couldn't be positive. Because of this, he had only a general idea of the direction that the two would be coming from. Everything would be ruined if he met them beforehand. If this happened, then that meant that he would never find that secret passage, a once in a lifetime opportunity! Heart beating considerably faster than normal, Draco flattened himself against the stone wall, aware of the spiders just above him.

"Ouch! Watch it, that's my heel!" hissed a voice down the hall, in a voice too quiet for normal human hearing to hear from such a distance.

"Well if you walked faster, then you wouldn't have that problem, now would you?"

Potter and Weasley. He was hoping that it would be only the two of them. Two pairs of eyes could see a lot less than three. Draco had considered the possibility that Granger might accompany them, if only for moral support, but he pushed away that thought as soon as it came to mind. Granger, as Head Girl, wouldn't have the guts to actually break curfew. And if she did, she wouldn't be stupid enough to be making as much noise as these two.

_Wait a second. _Something wasn't right. It felt like something was _moving _on him. It felt like..._oh, this is just disgusting!_

"That's just what I need, getting caught by Filch. You must have a sick sense of humor, Ron, if you think a night with Filch is the perfect date. So how are you two doing anyway? I heard it was getting serious between- Ouch! Hey, I was only kidding! You're gonna' get us caught!" _Thwack_. "Ouch!"

Luckily, the pair only gave a passing glance down Draco's hallway. They were still a bit busy attacking each other. If they had had looked, they would have seen a scandalized Draco Malfoy attempting to silently battle several spiders that had decided to drop down on his head and shoulders.

Once his arachnid foes had been vanquished (he had shown no mercy!), Draco carefully rounded the corner, just as Potter and Weasley took the next right. He followed them, keeping them in his sight as they meandered through the maze of corridors that led to the passage.

Once there, Draco took a second to get a good view of the entire area. He had rarely been in this part of the castle, and had never given it a second glance. Now, he cautiously scanned the hall, looking for a good hiding place. An old statue of a witch with one eye was set against a wall that faced a hallway. There were several adjacent corridors to the left and right, leaving the witch as a sort of marker between the three hallways, each lined with a single archway. Two pillars were placed at either side of the arcade, providing a perfect hiding place if someone was standing in one of the other arches. The only way that Draco could possibly be discovered there was if either Potter or Weasley stood in the middle of the archway, right beside the exact pillar that he was hiding behind. He waited.

And then the cloak came off...

The torchlight flickered, glinting off Potter's glasses and highlighting the angles of his face as he stood before the witch and palmed his wand. Weasley, visage resolute, stationed himself opposite the statue, a distance of some fifteen feet. He repeatedly cast uneasy glances down the hallway, but was careful to shield his body behind the wall in case an uninvited guest made a surprise appearance.

This gave Draco a chance to slip behind a pillar to the left. He crouched close to the ground, leaning against the wall, and willed himself to stay as still as the column he was hiding behind. He wet his lips in anticipation. Now, he would finally know one of the Wonder Trio's dirty secrets, and when he did, he would blackmail them until he tired of the game, or got what he wanted from them.

Potter gave one last cursory glance around the room, until his eyes stopped on his best friend. "Ready, Ron?"

"You're clear," he said in a deep whisper, and stole a quick look around the corner once more. His freckles stood out in sharp contrast to his pale face. He looked especially hideous in his maroon jumper that he wore right now, with a big fat "R" right in the center of his chest. Draco had seen Potter in one almost exactly like it, and had wondered on more than one occasion why anyone would voluntarily wear something that looked like prison clothing.

A drop of sweat rolled down Draco's temple, despite the freezing weather that penetrated the stones of the ancient castle. He held his breath in anticipation of what would happen next.

Giving a quick nod, Potter tapped the one-eyed witch's hump with his wand. In a clear voice, he said "Dissendium", and waited for whatever was to transpire.

At first, nothing happened. Draco was confused. Did he say the right word? Was anything supposed to occur at all? He stretched his neck around the pillar, trying to catch a better view of the statue. Perhaps it was charmed to be invisible to anyone but the person performing the spell.

But Draco's thoughts were interrupted. Rock began to grate against rock, and a small cloud of dust rose above the statue. He couldn't see what was going on, but he would have bet a hundred galleons that some sort of trap door had just opened. To confirm his suspicions, Potter boosted himself upwards and into the witch, face first, and disappeared from sight.

A triumphant grin lit the Slytherin's ashen face. Jackpot.

Potter wasn't gone more than two minutes when a medium sized bundle of folded material began to push itself out of the middle of the hump. Once clear, it fell lightly to the ground beside the statue.

Draco had had several days to ponder the properties that this cloak might have. A piece of clothing could be charmed to do just about anything nowadays. Many charmed their clothing to repel water, or to be stain proof. Some material could be charmed to be unable to be cut, or it could be cursed to attack whoever put it on.

Draco didn't think a cloak like that would be important enough to risk the wrath of Snape or Filch. No, it was something rarer than that. So Draco had concluded that it must be one of two things: it could be an invisibility cloak, or it could be a Confundus cloak, which allows the user to assume the identity of whoever they wish. The cloaks fuse themselves with the wearer, creating a layer of magical energy that confuses whoever sees the cloak into believing that the cloaked wizard is someone else, according to the wishes of the wearer. Muggles would classify such a thing as an optical illusion. In a way, it acts like Polyjuice potion, but Confundus cloaks had become outdated since the invention of the concoction. Some wearers of the Confundus cloak had the slight misfortune of being spliced into two different people, which would occur if the cloak were worn by anyone other than its owner. In the end, the Ministry had outlawed its use, claiming that it was a risk to national security. Only a handful of dark arts antiquities collectors still possessed them, and in strictest secrecy.

There were several drawbacks to the cloak. One, you could not make fast movements while under the cloak, or else the image would flicker and become unstable. Also, the Confundus Cloak can only confuse a person with a magical background. Muggles can't be fooled. Unlike Polyjuice potion, however, a wizard or witch can wear a Confundus cloak for up to three days at a time without the magic wearing off. With Polyjuice potion, one has only a little more than an hour to perpetrate whatever mischief they needed to. Another disadvantage of Polyjuice potion is the fact that you need a sample of whomever you are changing into. With a Confundus cloak, all a wizard has to do is think about whom they want to be while wearing the cloak, and they assume the person's form.

Draco considered the possibility that it was an invisibility cloak. A Confundus cloak, while highly interesting, was both dangerous and highly illegal. Potter would never own anything like that. It wasn't very practical, either. What could he do with it? Pretend to be Professor Snape and let Potions out early, leaving every last Slytherin with a month's worth of detention? While the idea would be tempting, it didn't seem plausible. As with both Polyjuice potion and the Confundus cloak, one had to be careful that you didn't run into your counterpart while assuming their form. To say the least, it would create a vastly embarrassing situation. So unless Potter was planning on overpowering Snape and locking him in the broom closet, he didn't think Potions would be let out early in the near future.

If Potter had an invisibility cloak, then that would explain an awful lot. How had he been able to pull all of his stupid little stunts without being caught by Filch or any of the other teachers? How had Potter's head been floating in Hogsmeade by the Shrieking Shack that day in their third year? And why had Draco been so dense that he hadn't thought of it before? If he had been wearing an invisibility cloak, then it would have been very possible for his head to be floating outside of Hogsmeade.

Draco ground his teeth in aggravation. He wanted to kick himself! The answer had been so obvious!

Weasley had just walked over to pick up the cloak when a shuffling noise caught his attention. He peered into the hole.

"Harry, are you alright down there?" he asked, concerned.

"Uh, I think I've got a problem," was Harry's sheepish reply.

"Oh not again," spat Ron exasperatedly. He threw down the cloak and proceeded to climb into the statue until his entire torso was inside. Bracing his feet on the sides, Ron called to Harry. "Alright mate, grab my hand, and I'll pull you loose. On the count of three, ready?"

Now was his chance to make an appearance. He silently laughed to himself, anticipating the looks on their faces when they realized he had been spying on them the entire time.

Draco stepped out from behind the pillar and leaned casually against the stone wall; one knee crooked forward, and watched the scene unfold. With only the mildest bit of interest, he watched as Weasley labored to pull Potter free, who appeared to be stuck in the narrow passageway. With one last tug, both boys fell out of the statue and fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs. The grating of rock signaled that the passage was closing once more.

"Are you hurt?" wheezed Weasley, struggling to push himself forward to a sitting position.

"No, something broke my fall."

"You know good and well that was me, so how about getting off?" Weasley gave Potter a lighthearted shove, leaving Potter on the floor beside him, laughing softly.

"Ugh, I think you broke a rib or something," winced Weasley, rubbing his side painfully.

Potter rolled his eyes, although the look went unnoticed by Weasley since Potter was still on his back. "Don't you think you'd know if your rib was broken?"

"As much as I'd love to witness this little get together further-," drawled Draco as he leaned against the wall and examined his fingernails carelessly, "-I think that we should finish here and leave before Filch finds three new recruits to scrub the filth from the Entrance Hall."

Potter and Weasley stared open-mouthed at Draco for several seconds before regaining their wits. When they did, they scrambled to a standing position, ready to pounce.

"Nice hair, Malfoy," said Weasley, angrily.

Potter stepped forward, eyes narrowed behind his round lenses. "Ten points to Slytherin for a good entrance, Malfoy," he spat sarcastically. "Now, what do you want, and how long have you been standing there?"

Draco feigned a hurt expression. "Manners, Potter. Aren't you going to ask how I'm doing on this fine evening?" He stepped away from the wall, crossing his arms over his chest and meeting Harry's gaze.

"Just answer the question Malfoy. I don't have time for your games."

Draco lifted a single pale eyebrow. "None of us do. As to the time, I've been here long enough to learn a few interesting things that they don't teach us in class." Harry winced, knowing what was coming. "And as to what I want, I thought that was obvious. I would like to know where that nice little secret passage of yours leads to." He glanced back at the one-eyed witch. "Oh, and Weasley," he said, turning to the boy, whose hand had been slowly inching towards his back pocket where his wand lay. "I thought that you would know by now, that cursing me at this time of night would be a very stupid thing to do. We all know that a curse would bring a teacher running from every direction faster than a snitch can fly. But, again, maybe I'm giving you too much credit."

Weasley let his hand drop to his side, his disappointment obvious and his rage slowly growing. He looked back at Draco, a sneer curling his upper lip. "We're not telling you a thing, so just bugger off you git!"

Draco shot Weasley a half-hearted glare and looked heavenward, as if sending a silent plea for a bolt of lightning to strike somewhere near, preferably Weasley. "You really think that I can't find out for myself? I know where it is, I know the password, so you might as well tell me the rest."

Potter spoke up. "You'll just rat us out to Snape for being up past curfew, even if we did tell you."

"Rat? More like a ferret," grumbled Weasley under his breath, staring down at the floor.

Draco ignored the jibe and started to walk at a slow pace, circling the two other boys. It somehow felt like the right thing to do.

"That's an invisibility cloak, isn't it Potter? Quite handy, hmm? Tell me, where did you acquire such a splendid thing," Draco asked. The way he said it you would have thought that they had just discussed a homework assignment or their thoughts on the next Quidditch league champions.

Potter turned back and fixed the ashen boy with a hard stare. "I won't ask you how you found out. If you tell anyone-"

"I know, I know," Draco replied cheerfully. "You'll eviscerate me and hang what's left of my broken and bloodied corpse from Gryffindor Tower. How about instead," he suggested, "we negotiate. You tell me where this passage goes, and any little secrets that might be hiding along the way, and I'll keep your little secret about the invisibility cloak. Deal?" Draco mentally smiled. There was no way the Gryffindorks were getting out of this one. Not a single way. He would have explored the passage himself, and then held the cloak over Potter's head as blackmail, but nowadays you had no idea if the passage wasn't cursed or hexed, and an explorer could quickly get killed. He should know; there were numerous passageways around Malfoy Manor with dozens of surprises waiting around each corner for any ill-fated burglar or snoop.

"Your word," replied Potter seriously as he fastened his eyes on Draco.

"My what?"

"I want your word that you'll keep your bargain," he clarified in dead earnestness. Weasley threw his hands up into the air, as if the suggestion was the most absurd thing he had ever heard of. Draco looked at Potter with an appraising glance.

"You would take my word as a guarantee?" Draco always kept his word, but only the Slytherins or Ravenclaws would know that, as he really had very few dealings with Gryffindors. His father, for whatever flaws that he had, was a very keen businessman and had always taught Draco that if a man's word could not be trusted, then he wasn't worth his weight in dragon dung. And for the Malfoys, worth was everything.

"Yes. But just in case you forget, I would like to remind you that you are out of bed as well, and there's no way you could prove that we're out unless you incriminate yourself. And unless my memory is a bit foggy, I can't imagine that you'd like to spend another detention in the Forbidden Forest," smiled Potter, who seemed quite pleased at the turn of events.

"Minced Draco Malfoy" was the first image that popped into the Slytherin's head. If Snape ever knew that he blackmailed by the Gryffindors...he didn't want to think about it. It was too dreadful.

Ron, wanting to get his two knuts worth in too, added "And you can't tell anyone about the passageway either." He cracked his knuckles threateningly, and the sound seemed to reverberate around the hallway. Draco ignored him.

Draco's eyebrows furrowed dangerously as he scowled at Potter and Weasley, but mostly Potter. Unfortunately, the Boy Who Lived was right. He didn't relish the thought of going back into that wasteland of magical monsters, but neither did he relish the idea of relinquishing to these two miscreants. In the end, self-preservation won out over pride.

"Fine," he sniffed. "I give my word, as a Malfoy, that I will not tell anyone that you have an invisibility cloak and that you two have been here tonight, nor will anyone be told about the passage. Is that good enough?" But that didn't include _showing_ others the passageway. Draco felt that he was going to have a bit of fun with this later on. When will the Gryffindors ever learn to word their sentences correctly?

"And that includes your pals in Slytherin," added Weasley, who looked like he didn't believe him in the slightest.

"No one else will be told," repeated Draco with an annoyed expression. "About anything."

Potter held out his hand to the Slytherin, who stepped forward and shook it firmly. Once done, the two jumped apart quickly. The enemies stared at each other for several seconds before Potter finally decided to break the silence. "Alright, we've got that out of the way. Now," he turned back to the witch and glanced at Draco. "I assume you know how to open it?"

Draco smirked and strode purposefully toward the statue. The Slytherin tapped it with his wand and, with an air of great satisfaction, spoke the charm. The statue, which had remained motionless during the conversation, began to gratingly and slowly open until a small and rather dusty narrow entrance could be seen on the top of the hump.

"The entrance used to be smaller," said Potter, gesturing at the passage. Although he was still on his guard, he had dropped the angry façade. "I had to widen it last year because I kept on getting stuck. I guess I didn't widen it enough," he said, with an awkward grin aimed at Weasley.

Draco peered inside. "Why don't you widen it now, while you're here?"

Harry frowned and shook his head. "Not possible at nighttime. Too much noise; it'll bring Filch running. Silencing charms would be detected by the professors. Best time to do it is during the day, when there are a couple hundred students walking around and making noise too."

Draco nodded approvingly. "It's dark in there," he said to no one in particular.

"What, scared of something Malfoy?" asked Weasley with an uncharacteristic sneer.

"Should I be?" countered Draco in a cold manner. "Now tell me. Is there anything I should watch out for, like trapdoors and hexes and the like?" He had kept his gaze on the passage, trying to see through the pitch-black darkness. He didn't dare try a Lumos spell. The light had a good chance of attracting Filch or Mrs. Norris.

"Nope. Just a bumpy walk." Potter would let Draco find the places to duck by himself.

Weasley stepped forward around Potter. He didn't like the idea of sharing their important secrets with a Slytherin. If he could provoke Draco into throwing the first punch, then there was no way for him to take the blame completely, even if Snape was standing behind him watching the entire thing.

"Shouldn't you be out murdering or torturing or something like that? I mean, that's what Death Eaters do you know. Or were you rejected from your special little club? Daddy couldn't buy your way in." Weasley looked at Draco in satisfaction, daring him into action.

Draco's face had become stony. His hands were clenched to fists, knuckles white. "If only you knew Weasley," whispered Draco, in a voice so low as to be almost inaudible. Weasley made as if to reach for his wand again, but Potter stepped between the two.

"That's enough!" hissed Potter in a low voice. "What part of "be quiet so Filch won't catch us" do you not understand?" Potter eyed them both in an accusatory manner.

"We're fine; Filch is nowhere near us right now," said Draco offhandedly as he took a few short breaths, chest rising and falling a bit too quickly for normal. If he didn't calm himself now, his eyes would surely change color.

"How would you know?" asked Potter as he shot Draco a questioning and suspicious glance.

Damn. "I passed him on my way here, going in the opposite direction," he replied hurriedly, taking his former spot against the wall. If his eyes were changing color, he wanted some distance from the Gryffindors. There's no way he could explain how he could hear the mice scratching around a floor below them if he wanted to, much less Filch tromping around. If he focused on it, Filch's silent footsteps could become as loud as a herd of stampeding cattle, but it still took a lot of practice. He needed to change the subject quickly. "So, where does this passage lead to?"

"The passage leads to Hogsmeade," answered Potter, still looking strangely at Draco. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with one hand in a gesture of pure exhaustion and spoke to Draco once more. Draco calmed a bit, even if he did still feel like cursing Weasley into oblivion. "Honeydukes, actually. There's a staircase that leads to a trapdoor in the cellar. And as of now-," said Potter, glancing back at Draco, "-Filch doesn't know about it."

"And it better stay that way," snarled Weasley over Potter's shoulder.

"Keep your cloak on, Weasley. I'd hate to see you mess that one up. I don't think your parents could afford to buy you a new one. You'd have to borrow a pillow case from one of the house elves." He looked a Weasley once more, not bothering to hide his contempt. "Then again, in might be an improvement. Besides," he added, placing a hand against the column and letting it support his weight, "A Malfoy always keeps his promise." If they're legally certified, he mentally added. He knew he shouldn't provoke the Weasel, but it was just too much fun.

Weasley looked like he was about to throttle Draco. They glared at each other; each hoping the other would somehow spontaneously combust.

"Come on," urged Potter, who laid a hand on Weasley's shoulder, intent on moving his friend away from an imminent fight. It was clear that Weasley didn't want to end the argument there, but Potter's persistent tug settled the matter.

"Remember Potter – you owe me a favor. I'll collect it someday."

Potter, although quite unhappy, nodded curtly. "There's something not quite right about you Malfoy. I can't put my finger on it, but when I figure it out, you'll be the one owing _me_ a favor."

"You know, you've got quite a few secrets of your own. I wonder what else you're hiding Potter."

Although quite shaken by Potter's ominous words, he attempted to show no sign of it. He had been counting on his own blind luck and the Gryffindor's stupidity so far to keep his secret safe, but Draco now saw that he had to keep himself on a tighter leash, and no pun intended.

"Hopefully we'll never have enough time together for you to find out. Come on Ron." They turned their backs on Draco and headed back the way they came. Weasley glared back over his shoulder as they left.

"Thanks Potter, Weasel," called Draco sarcastically and quietly to their retreating backs. Filch was getting closer now. If he was lucky, Potter and the Weasel might still be caught. "I'll see you in potions."

And a very pleased Draco Malfoy returned to the Slytherin common rooms, several corridors and one left of Filch.

Next chapter: The full moon – can Draco get through it?

Reviews:

Memory Charm it Away: Well, if nothing else, it will teach Draco to think before he speaks. He's always so hard on others, I guess he has to learn life's lessons the hard way. But you're right – it still makes for a great story!

Tiffany&Co.: Thanks for the compliments. Nope, the dialogue isn't exactly subtle, but you sometimes just have to spell it out for some people or they completely miss it. Maybe I won't be so blunt next time, and make the readers guess a bit. Romance? Afraid not, I'm horrible at writing it. I think that would just overcomplicate the plot as well, but that's just me.

Avenging Kitty: Nice name! Here's your post, and hopefully it's not too dark.

Launigsiae: Hope this turned out well. I start school again soon, so I'm sure my Spanish will become passable once again. Next time I'll write my review answer in Spanish, I promise.


	10. By the Light of the Full Moon

**Chapter 10: By the Light of the Full Moon**

**AN:** It's finally here! The long awaited chapter! I've been mulling over this chapter forever, since I've been looking forward to writing it ever since I started this whole process. I know you guys probably want to take a hot iron to the side of my head right now, so I'll just leave you with the chapter and let you make your own decision. I hope I didn't ruin anything for you.

**Disclaimer:** C'mon, do you really want to sue me? It would cost much more in legal fees and wasted time than it would benefit the WB Corporation and Rowling. Why would a billion dollar industry want my measly stuff anyway?

**Chapter 10**

As the days passed and the full moon drew nearer, Draco became increasingly restless, as if there was something that he needed to do or somewhere that he needed to be. It wasn't difficult to fight at first. It was like a maddening mental trick, impossible to halt or scratch.

Yet Draco did his best to concentrate on his studies and appear as normal as possible, now that his life was anything but normal. He did his homework, joked with his dorm mates, and even started a fight or two with the Gryffindors, not that that was hard at all. When he could, he even tried reading a few passages out the werewolf book he had checked out from the library, although to be perfectly honest, the man was as interesting as Lockhart.

On the outside, he was the perfect Slytherin.

Nevertheless, inside his own body it was a totally different matter. He was easily provoked and angered at the slightest offense, but he never let his emotions get the better of him as they had in the previous days. Draco now realized that he had acted rashly when he had attacked Snape. In fact, it was probably one of the dumbest things he had ever done in his life. Was it the wolf's anger lashing out from within, or was he just being paranoid? Whatever the case, Draco knew that he would have to keep himself on a tight leash, no pun intended.

He also found that his senses, sharper and clearer than they had ever been previously, had now magnified to the point of being downright ridiculous. He again had to rely on a sense deadening potion from the medi-witch to retain his sanity, or else Draco felt sure that his brain would dribble out of his ears and onto the castle floor. And if he didn't die from that, then Filch would kill him afterwards for marring his spotless floors.

The Slytherin had met with Pomfrey the previous day to discuss the final preparations and to go over any last minute details. At first glance, the hospital wing had been completely devoid of human life. Not a single student laid in one of the stark white hospital beds, nor were there the usual cries of pain from some simple-minded first year Hufflepuff or Gryffindor.

He had crossed the sunlit stone floor in a few long strides and peeked in through the open door that led to the matron's private office. Draco had found her in the back room as usual, bending over an array of medical journals and newly published articles from _Wizard's Medical Oddities. _Like her hospital that she lorded over so strictly, her office was as immaculate and unspoiled as a brand new gossamer gown. Which is an astonishing feat, considering how they lived in a castle that was millennia old or more. Draco felt that even a drill sergeant from the Wizarding Auror Academy could have ran a white glove over her desk and brought it back spotless. Not a single paper was out of place, leaving Draco to guiltily think of his own mess back at his dorm room. To the corner of her desk sat a single aged picture set in a silver frame, with a single figure running in and out of the photo, sometimes falling into a pile of autumn leaves spread across the ground. The small child, brown hair mussed and gray eyes gleaming with mischief, laughed silently at the camera, as if he alone was privy to some untold joke. He continued to throw leaves at the photographer.

Feeling Draco's eyes upon her, Pomfrey glanced up and gave her usual cheery greeting. "Wasn't it a good day?" she had asked politely, not giving a second thought to the real meaning behind her words. No, it wasn't a good day. No day was a good day if he was in the hospital wing, for whatever reason it may be. But he thought that remark a bit too rude to say, and instead replied in a similar fashion.

Draco looked back to the photo. This time the boy was pouting, knotting his little forehead and jutting out his bottom lip. He had lost a shoe. She followed his gaze, and a sorrow came over her face when she realized what he was focusing on. Smiling sadly as if nothing was wrong and wiping away a few loose tendrils of gently graying russet hair, she had immediately dropped everything and gave her full attention over to her patient.

There were several useful things that he had learned. She had suggested taking runs around the lake if he felt restless. Also, he had to eat more red meat, both for the protein to assist transformation and to satiate the beast within. Apparently, transformations would be less difficult if he followed these strict actions. He would soon find out.

He met with Madam Pomfrey a few hours before nightfall in the Hospital Wing. From there, they made their way out onto the grounds. A silvery glow was rising off the horizon over the tree line, and Draco couldn't help but stop and stare. It was so...beautiful. Like Odysseus' men under the thrall of the sirens, Draco felt compelled to stand there and watch as the glow got brighter and brighter and rose. _Bella Luna_! Luckily, Pomfrey gave him a quick tug on his sleeve and snapped him out of his reverie.

Once out on the grounds, it took little time before they reached the Whomping Willow. It stood tall and ominous against the blue twilight sky, the branches swaying with the wind. It seemed to sense their approach; the dark and chunky limbs rose above the trunk, creaking and thrashing about as if to show its displeasure at their arrival. The Willow seemed to lunge forward like a pouncing cat, stretching its arms and tendrils of branches and leaves as far as they would go in an attempt to smash the interlopers into tiny bits. Nothing but long furrows of dirt were left in the branches' wake as they slapped the ground, ripping grass from its roots and throwing it into the air. Draco stepped back and raised an arm over his head to protect against the clods of dirt that fell upon their heads. Pomfrey seemed unperturbed.

"Now watch carefully," she said, sounding cautious. She retrieved a fallen limb from the lawn and carefully prodded a knot at the base of the massive tree. Quite suddenly, the Whomping Willow ceased to thrash and became deathly still. The darkness became eerily quiet.

"At last," she breathed as the Willow gave one final shake before settling. It was safe to move in, so they both continued on and climbed down through the root system and into the passage below.

She lit her wand and led the way, her face aglow from the wand light. As they walked, she spoke of several ways to still the Willow's violent branches. The knot was the easiest, as it required absolutely no magic, but there was still the risk of being hit.

"But you'll have absolutely no problem," she assured him as they walked, keeping her eyes ahead of them. "You're much faster than I've ever been, and as you refine your skills it will become easier. On the other hand," she continued, pulling a cobweb from her hair with disgust, "if you don't feel up to a little exercise, a very strong Impedimenta jinx should work. How are you at your jinxes Mr. Malfoy?"

He didn't have the heart to tell her that most of the Gryffindors that came to see her with jinxes had probably been assaulted by Yours Truly, for a just cause, of course.

It seemed like they had been walking for quite some time already. Where were they going? Was it possible to get lost in a tunnel that only went one direction? Draco felt that if it was possible, he could do it. If this took much longer, he'd have to ask for a rest stop, or maybe a martini or something that would – BAM!

"Oops, mind that low hanging rock, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco looked back up at her from the ground, screwing his face up and rubbing his forehead in indignation. Dirt was smudged across face and clothes. Disgusting. He couldn't decide which hurt more – his backside or his head. Now he really _could_ use a drink. The Slytherin wondered briefly if he could convince Pomfrey to allow him some for "medicinal purposes".

After reaching the shack and taking a look around, Draco could see that not all real estate appreciated in value with age. It was a nightmare! The place was practically falling in upon itself. The roof had caved in within the front room, leaving a heap of shingles and molding wood upon the rotting floor. The walls were practically leaking with moisture, and a smell of dust and decay lingered in his nose and lungs as he stepped over the threshold.

The floor creaked dangerously as Draco tenderly placed another foot upon the ground. He tested it, slowly putting all of his weight upon one foot, then shifting to the next, hoping that he wouldn't fall through the foundation.

"I know what you're thinking," smiled Pomfrey at Draco's disdainful look. "It looks like someone sucked up the entire house into a vacuum and then hit reverse."

She sighed as Draco frowned at her. They boy wouldn't understand a muggle phrase if it wasn't explained in explicit detail, and if he did understand, the teachings from his stringent, authoritarian sires would make him classify it as 'plebian slang', or some other form of such aristocratic nonsense. Sniffing, she motioned for him to follow and told him in a business-like manner, "The upstairs rooms are sturdier than these. I suggest you stay in there for the night."

Pomfrey entered the house with complete confidence, leaving Draco to believe that there must have been several spells holding the place together. Either that or the only thing holding it together was the rat droppings. She shut the front door behind her, and immediately a shower of dust descended upon their heads from the loose floorboards above, leaving a rather dour Draco Malfoy hacking and coughing as he followed the medi-witch.

Looking around for some sort of hand rail, he felt rather dismayed when he realized that it had fallen off long ago and now resided at the bottom of the stairwell. The Slytherin had to step over several broken steps as they ascended the creaking stairs. By the time they got to the second floor, Draco felt that if the transformation didn't kill him, then the house collapsing on top of him would. This place was a dump! The furnishings, the stairs, even the dust was probably second hand! Resigning himself to his fate, Draco sat down in the only chair that wasn't completely dismantled.

"You can put your clothes on this ledge up there," she said, pointing above Draco's head. He nodded silently, not knowing what to say or do except sit there and wait. It didn't feel like the time to point out the obvious construction flaws of his newest habitation.

She smiled good-naturedly, her eyes suddenly shining with unshed tears, and awkwardly patted him on the cheek in a motherly way. "I'll be here to unlock the door in the morning when you wake up. Don't be scared, Draco." She gave him one last fleeting look before exiting.

He watched as she left and locked the door, the listened to the sound as she descended the rickety staircase to go back to Hogworts. The boy frowned to himself and stared at the door long after she left, not quite comprehending what had just happened, but enjoying the warm feeling it left in his breast, especially since he felt like he had swallowed a mouthful of salt water.

Draco sat shivering in the cold night air, waiting with trepidation as real fear started to set in. He hung his head, letting out a choked sob. He hadn't been worried about the change itself before. That is, until this morning when he went to see Professor Snape.

A quick knock sounded against the door of Snape's office, causing him to raise his head and glance at the door. "Come in," he called to the visitor, knowing exactly who it was. Snape was dreading revealing the news. Contrary to the opinions of the students, he wasn't a sadistic monster who anticipated the next class with preplanned virulent criticism. He had never suffered fools, and would never exempt them from knowing exactly what he thought of them. It was that most of the pupils were just that: egotistical, gossiping dunderheads without a care for practicality or ambition. The potions professor set his quill and ink aside, pushing the papers away and giving his full attention to Draco as he entered and sat down.

"You wanted to see me?" asked Snape, completely aware of what Draco was about to say.

"Yes, sir," the boy replied, gracefully folding his hands in his lap. "I had a discussion earlier this afternoon with Pompfrey," he started, and gave a little nervous laugh, running a hand through his blond locks in uneasiness. "She said that I couldn't take the Wolfsbane potion, and that if I had any questions, you would know more than she did," he said, throwing out a hand carelessly. "I naturally told her that there must have been some horrible mistake and that I'd talk to you immediately." Draco waited expectantly.

Snape eyed Draco with a hard gaze. "I thought you already knew by now. The Wolfsbane potion cannot be taken during at least the first two months of transformation."

The boy was silent and stared disbelievingly at his Head of House. "What do you mean 'it can't be taken'?" he stuttered, grasping for words. He felt like a little bunny cornered by a wolf.

Snape's face remained impassive. "I mean exactly what I stated before Mr. Malfoy. New werewolves who have consumed the potion too soon have experienced...adverse effects. I'm watching for your safety, even if you don't seem to care for your own."

"Adverse effects?" he spluttered, not fully comprehending. A trace of fear was evident behind his widening eyes.

"VERY adverse effects," finished Snape. "I wouldn't suggest trying the experience yourself."

The potions master had watched cautiously as Draco's face slowly evolved over the course of the conversation, changing from confusion to fear, and finally settling for a seething anger. He could literally see the fury boiling inside Draco like a pot on a hot stove. Disaster was imminent.

"And you didn't think this information was pertinent enough to tell me? Maybe sooner than the day of one of the most stressful days in my life?!" shouted Draco, feeling very annoyed indeed. His muscles tensed like a taut rubber band as a tingling sensation slid its way down the boy's back. "Do you think this is easy; some walk in the park?"

Draco let the anger bubble up and explode, no longer attempting to restrain himself anymore. He stood up and cleared everything off Snape's desk with a sweep of his arm, letting glass clatter to the ground and papers fly to all areas of the office. The open inkbottle had fallen in Snape's lap, yet he did nothing to move it.

Void of emotion, Snape looked on and merely stated "Wonderful job, Mr. Malfoy. The evil ink is dead. You have vanquished it."

"Do you think this is funny?" said Draco incredulously. The man was infuriating! He wanted to jump across Snape's desk and strangle him. "What if you were bitten? Would you have a bit more compassion? What if I bit you?" asked Draco, locking amber eyes with his potions professor and feeling much more like the predator now than the prey. He wanted to find every heavy blunt object in the room and pound them into Snape's head. He wanted to...

"That's enough Mr. Malfoy!" Snape shouted back, finally rising to his feet and leaning across the desk, hands braced on either side of him. "Sit down, before I make you sit down," he commanded in a deadly whisper.

Draco felt all of the anger rush out of him like someone had opened a drain. He quickly sat back down in the chair, ashamed with himself and not bothering to look back at his professor.

"You're practically foaming at the mouth; I have no special love for rabies inoculations, so I suggest you gain control of yourself, and do so quickly," said Snape in a disgusted voice. He sent one final glare back at the boy and crossed to the back of the office, opening a large wardrobe. Inside was an array of black robes, each identical in cut and color. Robes did tend to get damaged when a student's caldron exploded nearby, especially when dealing with fool-hardy Gryffindors or slow-witted Hufflepuffs. Snape turned his back on Draco and slowly unbuttoned his outer robes, leaving the professor clad in his black trousers and waistcoat. He hung the soiled robe upon a hanger and sat back down at his desk, waiting patiently.

Draco attempted to control his breathing like Pompfrey had suggested before he started to hyperventilate. But he was just so angry! He had never had trouble controlling his emotions before, so why was it so difficult now?

"Sir," he tried, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. He opened them again and looked back at his professor. "Don't you think it would have been important to tell me before the day of the full moon," gritted out Draco, who fought the urge to grind his teeth in aggravation. He settled for gripping the arms of the chair.

"Don't you think," Snape countered, "it would have been prudent to ask me before instead of waiting until the last minute?"

Draco remained silent. No, he hadn't really thought of that. He had expected Pompfrey or Snape to simply call him.

"I'll forgive your outbursts this time, being as how your emotions run high around the full moon, with your elevated hormones and all that rot." Snape stopped for a moment, grimacing like he'd just ingested a foul-tasting potion. "How did I get so lucky?" he mused, almost talking to himself. "A teenage boy, who already had elevated hormones before, now has a dangerous enough amount to the point where he has destroyed my office twice in as many weeks." He turned back to Draco, becoming deadly serious once more. "But you can't use elevated hormone levels as your excuse to anyone else. I promise you this: raise your voice to me once more time, or threaten me in any way, and I can guarantee you that the full moon will be the least of your problems."

Draco gulped, knowing that his professor meant every word that he said and could back them up just as easily as he had said them. But that didn't keep him from retorting with a scathing comment. "Well sorry if I sound bitter. I am," mumbled Draco, folding his arms across his chest and sliding down in his seat.

"You can't expect the professors to hold your hand through this ordeal. I would have thought that you would have been mature enough to perform your own research instead of relying on others." Snape sat back down, looking neither angry nor content with himself. It was just something that had to be said.

Those words sliced through Draco like a dragon's tooth through flesh. Snape was trying to give him, Draco Malfoy, a guilt trip! Honestly, the complete nerve of some people. Everything had to be his fault! It always was! Secretly, Draco knew that everything actually was his fault. He had gotten himself bitten, and he had been the one who had slacked off when it came to learning about his condition. He felt that it was about time to hone his brooding skills once more.

"Alright," he sighed, knowing that there was nothing he could do to defend his actions now. "What do I do without the Wolfsbane potion?"

"You'll turn into a beast, just like every other werewolf who doesn't live near a world-class potions master," said Snape, punctuating the last words with just a touch of pride. "You'll have no control over your actions, and you'll be little more than a disease-carrying cur. And it shall be so for three days starting tonight."

_Well that was a bit unnecessary_. Draco looked at his professor for another second or two before raising his eyebrows defensively. "A simple 'you'll have to wait it out' would have sufficed, but thank you ever so much for reminding me of my misery."

Draco sat pensively for another moment, and then abruptly rose to leave. "Great. Just fine," Draco spat. He thought it was best to leave now, before he got angry once more. "Mix in a bit of rectal surgery, and this is just the best day ever." He let the door slam behind him.

A cold sweat broke out over Draco's forehead. He felt small and alone here in this quiet house, with nothing but his fear to keep him company.

Trickles of moonlight were beginning to seep in through the cracks in the dilapidated house, illuminating the room and giving him a much better view of his surroundings. His gaze traveled upwards to the beams of the rafters, which thankfully looked solid enough to last another night. But the only things that seemed to be holding the furniture together were the layers of dust that had collected upon the faded and shredded fabrics.

Draco tried to keep his mind occupied, but could do little more than hum the newest Weird Sisters tune before his thoughts reverted back to horrible images of bone-breaking transformations that his books had illustrated with startling clarity and detail.

A few well-placed _Scourgify_'s later and Draco felt decidedly better about his surroundings. It wasn't his area of expertise, but even he knew how to clean a cauldron with baked on potions ingredients caked over the bottom. Caked on dust was no different. He wouldn't eat off the floor, but at least he didn't leave footprints if he walked across the floorboards.

A putrid smell assaulted his nose. Looking around angrily for the culprit, he espied a rat in the far corner of the room.

And it was defecating. In his room. Merlin help it, he would show no mercy! He just cleaned that spot!

Quite suddenly and without warning, he felt a tremor break through his entire body. The room he was in had no windows whatsoever, yet he knew that the time had come.

And Draco was afraid. More than he had ever been in his entire life. He dreaded the moment when he would lose consciousness and finally become the monster, because from then on he would no longer be Draco Malfoy. It didn't matter how much money he had or how many political strings he could pull. Up until this point, he was still human. He'd never turned into a wolf and experienced the bloodlust, but all that would change tonight. There was no going back after tonight.

Twinges of pain stabbed throughout his torso, and then moved to his extremities until he felt nothing but the prick of needles over his damp skin. His pupils dilated until only the merest circle of amber could be seen. He cried out sharply and fell to the ground on his hands and knees, breathing heavily as his whole body became racked with spasms.

Draco bit his bottom lip to hold back the tears that threatened to course down his cheeks. This wasn't happening, not to him. He was Draco Malfoy. It was all a dream; a horrible nightmare and he'd wake up and find that nothing was wrong.

But the pain didn't stop. It magnified tenfold as the tremors ripped through him. He was sitting on his knees now with his arms thrown out behind him, but he didn't remember moving. His only thoughts focused on the pain, the searing pain that coursed outward from his spine and shook every nerve fiber. He couldn't take it anymore, couldn't hold it back. Draco tried to scream in pain, but found that even this luxury was stolen from him as his ribs expanded and his lungs tensed. The Slytherin threw his head back and opened his mouth in a silent howl.

The beast took hold and didn't let go, racking his body mercilessly. He could feel his own fingers now turning into claw-like nails, as he scratched as his chest, shredding the tender human skin to make way for the course dark hair that sprouted under the surface. Draco could hear the bones popping and snapping as muscles were wrenched and the sinew shifted, and the sound sickened him as he barely registered that these were_ his_ bones snapping, and _his_ muscles tearing as he tore his own skin away from the flesh. And finally, he could scream.

He was panting, hacking, and digging his claws into the wood as he writhed on the floor. His head pounded with the sound of his own screams, which became hoarser and lower, changing into a howl as he felt his spine twisting. Draco's nose and face elongated and the teeth sprouting from his muzzle lengthened to deadly points.

He tried to hang on, tried to focus on the pain as his body morphed into the monster that he had become. But his vision was darkening, and a dark fog had descended over his thoughts.

_Just a little longer. You can hold out for a moment longer_. But he knew was lying to himself, even as the last vestiges of humanity were torn away and replaced by something far more feral.

_Not me. No longer human. This isn't me._

Reviews:

Fieryred20 – Will do. Thanks for the review.

Launigsiae- Espero que este capítulo resuelva sus expectativas. Emocionaba para escribir.

Etre-loup de Madame – Nice penname. Mind translating for me? I took the Spanish road instead of French. To answer the questions – I believe that Lupin will appear in the next chapter, although please don't quote me. I'm writing in the details as I go along, although I have a pretty good idea of where I'm going. I hope you and all of your personalities are doing well, but if one of them feels the need for violence, I can suggest several of my teachers who would be good candidates. Are you a student as well? I think I'm going to have a mental breakdown too, sooner or later with all this school work. You know, Lucky Charms are sounding pretty good right now.... Hope you like the chapter.

ManicReversed: Yay for Draco! But sorry, no slash. I'm afraid I'd completely ruin it if I tried to add romance of any kind. Poor Draco.

Mysterious Unknown: Thanks for the praise! Reviewers like you keep me writing fanfiction. (:

CuriousDreamWeaver: Glad you like the werewolf idea. I seriously thought about making this a vampire fic instead, but quickly realized that it was kind of being overdone, or at least it would have been hard to make my fic original. I don't know, so far I don't know of any other Draco werewolf fics, but I keep my eyes open for them. Know any good ones?

Abbi: It's finally here! Did you last?

Next chapter: An appearance by Lucius and the Deatheaters (sounds like a rock group, doesn't it?), as well as the return of an old favorite. Can you guess who? I know you guys have been asking for him. You ask, I deliver.


	11. Suspicion

**Chapter 11: Suspicion **

A faint dripping of collected water upon the worn, moss-covered stone floor could be heard as one dark individual after another slowly entered through the large double doors, gathering with a collected group of robed figures centered around a poorly lit circle. Small snatches of conversation arose among those who were either too powerful or too stupid to remain quiet. They shifted from foot to foot, black robes whispering and white masks gleaming, watching on nervously as they awaited the reason they had been summoned. It was the third summon in one month, and that was never good news.

It was pitch-black and menacing inside the towering room, with high arched ceilings that would have reminded any other visitor of a quaint country chapel. But the room gave no comfort to those who entered its doors. Instead, each man could not help but think there would be little hope or salvation remaining to them if they dared displease their Lord.

"So why is it always so dark when we meet? And weapons, there's always an excess amount of weapons hanging on the walls, like we didn't use wands or something."

"I don't know," whispered another voice. "Maybe it makes the Dark Lord feel more manly or something. Or maybe he's compensating-"

"Quiet you two," hissed Lucius urgently. "Do you want to get yourselves killed?" The voices sounded quite young. And if they didn't shut up soon, Lucius mused, they surely would not survive long in this dangerous company. The recruits seemed to get dumber and dumber as the years passed. Maybe the gene pool was starting to thin again, thought Lucius silently. Sometimes he didn't know why he even bothered.

"This is so stupid," continued the voice in what he must have thought was a whisper.

"Be silent," hissed Lucius irritably, daring a glance back at the fools who dared prattle on.

"This is your fault. All yours. You always get me into this kind of mess and I'm frankly tired of…" The voice stopped abruptly when a light shone upon a previously unseen platform towards the back of the room. The Dark Lord stood on the platform, towering over the group and watching them with a critical eye. He descended the single stone staircase, which was crumbling with age, yet showed no hesitation with each confident foot step. To the normal observer, his movements would have conveyed a sense of frailty and defenselessness. He was pale as chalk, and his black robes hung off his skeletal body. Only the eyes conveyed the true power collected in what many outsiders would consider a miserable sack of flesh. They were red, fathomless, and sparked like the depths of Hades, ready to burn into the soul of any man before his gaze.

Not a murmur was heard from the crowd as their Lord and Master stepped forward and eyed their numbers appreciatively, yet his displeasure was evident. He too was robed in black, although the only mask he wore was his own hideous countenance. Voldemort allowed his displeasure to fully show as he scanned over his minions, all of whom suppressed their fear to the best of their ability. Some did it better than others.

"Lucius," he hissed quietly, as if trying not to disturb the sanctity of the chapel. He eyed a single man standing in the front row. "Come."

Lucius took a breath and stepped forward, nearly regretting that he had asked for this conversation. He kneeled before the Dark Lord in supplication, one knee forward and the other steadying himself upon the floor, and bowed low to the ground, feeling like the pet dog that he was. The aristocrat closed his eyes and waited in silence. He could almost feel those hard red eyes boring into the top of his blonde head, searching for any sign of disloyalty.

Voldemort stood straight-backed and stern as he evaluated his servant. "You fear for the boy," he stated. The Dark Lord was not one to dance around an issue.

"I do not fear, my Lord," tried Lucius, not wanting to appear weak in a time when he needed to be his strongest. He took a deep breath and willed his voice to be steady and firm, allowing no sarcasm to reach his words. "I need not fear anything under your omnipotent and most sagacious guidance." He paused and measured his words carefully. "If you'll allow me to give a proposal?"

Voldemort eyed Lucius scornfully, while the cloaked figure before him kept his eyes firmly rooted on the stone floor.

"Go on." His harsh voice held no patience. One wrong word could mean the difference between torture and freedom.

"I believe," began Lucius, raising his eyes from the floor to stare into the inky darkness behind his Lord, "that we are acting prematurely." The blonde stopped, waiting for the curse that would surely hit any second. The former Slytherin gathered his courage when it did not. "I believe that our subject," he said between clenched teeth, "needs time to understand and respect this valiant undertaking that will be impressed upon him."

"Impressed?" countered the Dark Lord. "You imply that it is being done against his will. Are you saying that he is not trustworthy, Lucius?"

"Not at all, Master," he breathed, bowing once more. His back was cramping. How long had he been bowing? Probably about two minutes, but it seemed like a lifetime.

"And what do YOU propose I do, Lucius?" said Voldemort silkily, a trace of irritation rising in his voice. It was the calm before the storm.

"Perhaps choose another leader, one who is worthy of the honor that you bestow upon him."

Voldemort hissed between tight gray lips and unconsciously bared his yellow teeth. "This has been planned for many years. It is my choice to make Lucius, not yours." He was clearly unhappy. "If the one I choose is unworthy, what does that say about the rest of my servants? Are they also unworthy?" The crowd shifted anxiously. "Perhaps," he said carefully, walking closer to the kneeling figure. "Perhaps you are unworthy as well."

"I have served your Lordship to the best of my ability." Lucius was kneeling so low now that his nose almost touched the ground. He forced down the spike of fear that tried to shoot down his spine. "I completely trust your judgment and will follow you unto death."

"As it should be. The matter is settled." Voldemort turned to survey his other Death Eaters.

"Master," continued the kneeling man, keeping his eyes locked on the dusty stone floor. Lucius just could not let this go on, although the voice of reason and all things rational screamed at him to let the subject drop. "He's just a boy," added the man quickly. He knew he had just made a terrible mistake.

Voldemort pivoted back to his spot and fixed the older Malfoy with a murderous glare.

"You dare defy me, Lucius?" he whispered, sounding far more threatening than if he had yelled.

"No my Lord. I-"

"_Sanguin Inflamarae!"_

Lucius screamed, unable to hold back as torrents of pain shot through his body, like alcohol being pushed through his veins. He writhed on the floor, nails digging into the stone as his body was racked with the curse. Finally, several seconds of this torture, Voldemort lifted his wand, leaving his victim panting and quivering on the stone floor.

"I do not want to be the cause of your pain, Lucius," the Dark Lord spoke, letting his voice become softer and understanding. "You are one of my most trusted Death Eaters, and I cannot let such fear cloud your judgment. The results would be… most unpleasant. Do you understand?"

"Of course Master. Thank you Master." Lucius could barely force his lips to form the words. Slowly, he crawled to his Lord and kissed the hem of his robes, ducking his head in reverence. VVoldemort watched as Lucius shakily lifted himself to his feet and hobbled back to his spot. A cloaked figure beside him helped to support the blonde's weight. Lucius leaned against the proffered shoulder heavily, unable to stand otherwise.

"Severus," rasped Lucius. The cloaked figure gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

It would have been most unwise to continue the matter through so-called diplomacy on the part of the Dark Lord. Obviously, other avenues would have to be explored. But he couldn't dwell on the subject now, thought Lucius grimly, still struggling to keep his knees from buckling. His master was far too skilled when it came to delving for secrets from his followers. He was known for being a superb Legilimens. The utmost secrecy would be priority. But he couldn't do it alone. He would ask Severus once this wretched holiday in Hell had ended. Yes, Severus would help him.

"Back to important matters," hissed Voldemort, eyes searching over his minions. Lucius concentrated all of his energy and willed his mind to remain closed to all intrusions. It would not do to lose so early in the game.

"Winston," his Master said, pointing with a deathly pale hand towards a small figure towards the back of the room. WWWWWiwintonsAlthough his face could not be seen, Winston was visibly shaking in terror. No man blamed him. "I have not seen results. W We have a problem to discuss." Voldemort grinned evilly, sending a shiver through the crowd.

By his third day of transformation, Draco had never felt so horrible in his life. He would have preferred a month's worth of dragon pox compared to a day of werewolf transformation.

When he had finally awoken the first morning, he could barely move on his own. Small beams of sunlight had filtered through the cracks in the slatted walls, becoming quite irksome. But when Draco had tried to move out of the way, his breath caught in the back of his throat. There was pain everywhere. There was no better way to describe it. Everywhere. His legs, arms, chest, and especially his back had felt he had gotten a massage from a Hungarian Horntail. Twice.

Draco had been able to move enough to give a short survey of his body. He had been black and blue over a good portion of his rib section, and great slashes ran across his abdomen and upper arms, contrasting sharply with the sickly pallor of his pale skin. There must have also been slashes on his back, even though he was lying on it. It felt like someone was pushing glass over it. How had his claws reached his back, of all places?

He had instinctively known that his arm was broken. Having never broken a bone in his life, it almost came as a surprise to him that he knew. But the second the Slytherin tried to move, the rational part of his brain said that it was best not to damage his body by moving more than he should. The smartest thing to do would be to wait.

Luckily, Pomfrey had arrived rather early and gave him a sleeping draught, which allowed him to heal in the hospital. He had no idea how he had gotten back to the hospital. The mediwitch had probably floated him there or something, but at the moment he hadn't really cared. He would have to ask.

When he had returned the following night, he realized that the Shrieking Shack looked about as bad as Draco had felt. Although it could be said that it was hard to make the Shack look any worse than it already was, the Slytherin felt sure that he had not helped the dilapidated structure. He vaguely remembered seeing the torn remains of his chair. Poor thing didn't have a chance. Neither did the walls apparently. They too had great slash marks in them, as did the remaining and nearly unrecognizable pieces of furniture. And to his great distaste, a distinct smell of wet dog pervaded throughout the house. Which was better than rat droppings, if nothing else.

Draco was positive now that the house was magically held together, because there was no way the house could have held up otherwise. He could also now see why no one had bothered to clean the shack afterwards. There was simply no use to it, seeing as how it was ruined over and over again three nights in a month. Maybe there was something he could do, some spell that he could cast to preserve the shack a bit more? He really hated having to sit starkers on the dusty floor. His skin was rather sensitive.

But that was the least of his worries right now. Dear Merlin, he'd never been in so much pain in his life. After two consecutive nights of transforming into a near rabid animal, Draco ached all over his body, and it was not just one of those dull aches that stayed with you. It was the kind that keeps a person incapacitated and in bed all day, where moving would almost certainly mean sheer torture.

And torture it was. By the time the mediwitch had finished her examination, she concluded that Draco did indeed have a broken arm. Not to mention two broken ribs, several pulled muscles, numerous slash marks that had been easily repaired, and a minor concussion. But apparently he had faired rather well compared to the usual first transformations. According to Pomfrey, such violent transformations usually subsided after the first year or two.

Granted, he couldn't do anything but lie on his stomach the entire day after the first night, but Pomfrey insisted that he go to class the second day, or else someone would surely start to piece together that he was missing school on the full moon. So he dragged himself through potions (Snape actually went easy on him), stumbled to Transfiguration and even made Longbottom look good that day by succeeding in making virtually every mistake possible out of utter exhaustion. He nearly fell asleep at the lunch table, but finally opted out of Care of Magical Creatures to take some private "study time", or a good long nap.

So he finally retreated back to his dorm and slept for a good part of the day, awaking just in time for his stomach to warn him that he was about to be late for the evening meal. Quickly throwing on his shoes and cloak, and with one last look in the mirror, Draco raced down to the Great Hall. And what a meal it was. It was the best thing Draco had ever tasted, and he was completely ravenous! Even the salad looked good, and every person who hates vegetables knows that if it's green, it's gone bad.

After thoroughly stuffing himself once more and scaring several second years in the process (they should have known better than to grab the same chicken leg that Draco wanted – next time they'd lose a hand if they tried that again, although it did draw several strange looks from his fellow Slytherins), Draco realized that he was actually looking forward to tomorrow. Tonight was the last day of transformation, and starting tomorrow, he could be perfectly normal for the next couple of weeks. Well, as normal as an 18 year-old werewolf, son of a Death Eater a and heir to one of the largest fortunes in Britain could be. Yes, he would be perfectly normal. One of his best classes was tomorrow – History of Magic! Given, it was with the Gryffindors, but it was also set in the middle of the afternoon and provided a prime time for sleeping. This meant that he could have some rest and not look quite as suspicious.

Draco set his napkin aside and rose from the table, intent on leaving as soon as possible and retreating back to the hospital wing before anybody could ask questions. He quickly stepped back over the benches and threw his cloak back over his shoulders. Waving a hasty goodbye to Pansy and the rest of the 7th years, he turned to leave.

"Hey, Draco, wait up!" Blaise yelled as he too rose from the table, placing his hands on the table and pushing up. DDDDraco was almost to the doors. The redhead hurriedly threw some pastries into the center of a napkin before wrapping it up and stuffing it into his pocket. He grabbed a slice of bread as well, then ran to meet the other, even as Draco sped up his pace. But, seeing as how Blaise was coming whether he liked it or not, Draco slowed his walk until his friend caught up.

"In a hurry, are we?" smiled Blaise good-naturedly, flashing white teeth. He took a bite out of his bread, spilling white crumbs onto the front of his black robes.

"Sorry, my mind is somewhere else right now," said Draco half-heartedly. He was in no mood to socialize. With Blaise following him, he had no choice but to head to the common room.

They walked in silence through the Great Hall, past the entrance hall and down the stairs into the dimly lit Slytherin dungeons, shoes echoing against the worn stone hallways. Torches hung on the walls, flickering light across the stone and their faces as they walked deeper into the belly of the castle. Draco shielded his eyes initially, not prepared for the sudden brightness as the torches flared brighter, providing better light for the two boys as they meandered through the dank corridors. This did not go unnoticed by Blaise, but he quickly averted his gaze.

The cold of the dungeons had already begun to seep into Draco's bones, motivating both Slytherins to quicken their pace. Robes billowing, they rounding yet another corridor in the maze of the dungeon. Although he had never noticed it before, the dungeons smelled strongly of decay. The smell strengthened whenever they passed through a particularly drafty corridor, but at those moments Draco could also pick up the scent of the potions classroom wafting in the breeze. Something extremely sour and pungent, most likely pickled hogs feet, was the first thought that came to Draco's mind, which meant that the second years were brewing insect repellants. TT That particular smell assaulted his senses, making Draco crinkle his nose in revulsion. Why did Snape choose the nastiest ingredients for his potions? There were always cheaper and far better smelling alternatives that could be used, like stewed willow bark in this instance, but the professor insisted on everything being as fresh and close to the original recipe as possible. Unfortunately for Draco, he would just either have to put up with the stink and learn to cope, or make his own olfactory deadening potion and lose the ability to taste his food for hours at a time.

Blaise cleared his throat, and the blonde glanced over at his good friend. Draco could tell that Blaise was dying to ask him something. The boy had been mildly uncomfortable around Draco all through dinner, although he did his best to hide it. And now, even though he tried to be nonchalant, Draco could see an inner struggle raging in the mind of his best friend. The redhead was frowning, his eyes unseeing as they walked the corridor. A silence ensued once more.

"Draco," he began, breaking the silence yet obviously struggling for words. Scratching the side of his auburn head nervously, he opened his mouth again, only to close it, still thinking over his words carefully. Finally, Blaise just blurted it out. "You would tell me if something was wrong, right? If something wasn't….right, you know, with you, or if you needed help. You would say something to me?"

For about half a second Draco panicked. His breath caught in his throat, before he realized that Blaise couldn't possibly know that he was a werewolf. Could he? He had been so careful. Draco hated lying to his best friend, but there were just some things that even friendship couldn't help. He thought it best to play dumb. "What do you mean?" questioned the blonde Slytherin, screwing up his face in confusion as if the mere suggestion that "something" could be wrong was the most ludicrous thing in the world. He eyed Blaise closely. He couldn't slip up now, not when he had been doing so well.

The two continued to walk slowly. They were approaching the Slytherin common room, and Draco knew that if he could drag it out until they got to the door, then Blaise would drop it. He wasn't the type to discuss private matters in public, thank Merlin. Draco didn't know what he would do if his best friend was a total gossip.

"I- I don't know. Maybe I'm being stupid," said Blaise, not making eye contact. "You've just been awful busy of late. And acting weird," said the redhead in a hurry, his face flushing.

Unfortunately, Blaise was slowing his pace, whether deliberately or unintentionally Draco could not be sure. And the blonde was getting extremely nervous, and was once again second-guessing himself. Had he not been careful enough? Had Blaise somehow figured out his secret? Had he told anyone else? Palms sweating profusely,D Draco desperately looked around him, trying to change the topic of conversation and determined not to make eye contact.

"What do you mean "weird"?" replied Draco, sounding as he'd just been insulted. In reality, Draco knew that Blaise was probably right, but if he could learn what he was doing wrong, them maybe Draco could correct his mistakes.

"You know," responded Blaise awkwardly, moving his hands out in front of him and eying Draco like it was quite obvious. When Draco blinked and stared back, Blaise let out a frustrated sigh. "You act strangely around everyone, and you're always jumpy. It's not like anyone's out to get you or something." Blaise eyed his friend expectantly.

"Go on," said Draco irritably, feeling slightly peeved although he tried not to show it.

"And you're just not yourself. You haven't started a proper fight with the Gryffindors in weeks, and you're always by yourself. You don't talk to anyone; you just go to your room and work. And now that Pansy doesn't really have anyone to hang on, she's coming after me! Did you hear that Draco, me!" he cried desperately. "Did we do something wrong? Did_ I_ do something wrong?" asked Blaise pointedly, a hint of desperation in his voice.

"Nothing is wrong. I think you're just overreacting," he said, hoping that his friend would not push any further. Draco chose not to make eye contact. If he had looked at Blaise, he would have had to look at the hurt in his eyes, or the sullen expression that the redhead now wore.

Since they were almost directly under the lake by now, it was little wonder that the walls constantly seeped water from between the stones. But Filch made sure no mold or mildew could be seen along the main corridor. Draco's eyes traced a line down the stone blocks, following a drop of water as it trickled down the wall. Mmm Maybe the water-repelling charms were weakening.

"I'll be glad to get back to Quidditch practice next week," tried Draco, feeling somewhat guilty that he had been ignoring his friend. "Pomfrey finally released me. She says I should be almost completely over the flu by now. I think with a bit more sleep, I'll be ready for the next game in no time. I think we have pretty good chances. What do you think?"

"To be frank, I think you look horrible," stated Blaise. Eying him more closely, the redhead continued. "In fact, I think if you got hit by a bludger right now, you'd be more use to the team as a paperweight than a seeker." He gave his friend a glance over as if to confirm his suspicions as Draco looked on, completely shocked. This was not the comment Draco was expecting. So Blaise wasn't going to drop the subject, was he? He was hoping for a good conversation about Quidditch, but if Blaise thought his appearance so bad as to comment about it, then maybe it was time to do something about it. Was this Blaise's way of saying that he could see the changes caused by the lycanthropy?

Draco had been relying on Pepper-Up Potion to keep him alert these past two days, but truth be told, he looked downright ragged. The two previous nights of transformation had left his body racked, and the dark circles under his eyes made his lack of sleep obvious to anyone. He was paler that usual, with the spidery blue veins in his hands creating a stark contrast to his ghostly pallor. And obviously, he would have to eat more next time, considering how frail and thin he seemed, even after just a few days. The Slytherin had thought that he had been eating enough for a small country the previous days, but a werewolf's transformation required so much energy from his sapped body that it had obviously not been enough. Perhaps he could arrange special dining times other than meal times, or maybe sneak down to the kitchens and attempt to find the entrance. But until then, Draco felt that he would probably stay looking thin and sickly.

Overall, Draco was fairly certain that he looked more like a vampire on its deathbed than a werewolf. But at least his hair still looked good, even if it did change color.

"I promise, Blaise. It's nothing I can't handle. I'm just tired," said Draco, trying to look as sincere as possible but having trouble keeping the grumpiness from edging in his voice. It wasn't working. "I haven't really slept well at all these past couple of nights. Nothing to worry about. Who knows? Maybe it's just the flu resurfacing."

Blaise seemed reluctant to drop the issue and somewhat hurt that Draco had apparently brushed him off so lightly, but thankfully they had finally reached the common room entrance.

"Here we are," said Draco loudly, a hint of anxiety still ebbing in his voice. The hallway looked like every other foot of hallway that they just passed, with the exception of a large, circular water stain that covered the entire floor. He stepped towards the left wall, pulled out his wand from the inner lining of his sleeve, and tapped a number of the stones in the precise order required to open. Blaise hurriedly moved away from the water stain. As he finished, the Slytherin stepped back when the floor started to melt away to reveal a dark stone pit, exactly the same size and location as the water stain. The entire pit was line with stone as far as could be seen, which wasn't very far at all. In all appearances, it was a pit into nothingness.

Satisfied that the pit was fully formed, Draco cleared his throat and stated clearly "Bobotuber Pus" into the night air. Stone after stone seemed to liquefy and fall into nothingness, only to be pulled to the sides by an invisible force to form a spiraling stairway lining the pit as solid as any other stone under their feet. Draco smiled. That was so much better than a simple picture frame. Both boys walked down the stairs.

The method of entry had been changed in Draco's 6th year when an unidentified group of Gryffindor students had somehow broken in and changed the colors of the room to red and gold. Draco had thought it rather unimaginative and predictable, but it had been enough to send Snape into a frenzy. Not two days later, the wall had been changed.

The smell of wood smoke drifted from the roaring fire in the hearth, centered in the common room and lighting the room with a warm and homely glow. It provided a welcome contrast to the damp and chilly atmosphere of the rest of the dungeons. He squinted again. His eyes were so much more sensitive on the nights of the full moon, as was his hearing. The assault of chatter and the crackling of the fire as the walked into the room was distracting, to say the least.

Crabbe and Goyle were sitting at one of the tables, but Draco highly doubted they were doing homework, as every now and then one of them would laugh stupidly. Most likely, the two had probably captured Longbottom's toad again. What was its name? Tommy? Troy? Even Draco felt sorry for the poor thing.

And now, Draco had precious little time to ditch his friends and head back to the hospital wing. He pretended to follow Blaise to the steps that led to their dormitory, avoiding several groups of students gathered around the room, sitting upon the squishy brown leather couches with their homework laid out upon the heavy mahogany tables under green lamps, or stretched out in a study circle upon the brand new Oriental rug in front of the fire. Slytherin alumni often donated their gently used furniture to the common room, so it was not unusual to come downstairs to find the furniture or the wall hangings changed overnight.

But the blonde stopped suddenly, as if abruptly remembering something.

"You know, on second thought," he started, knowing that he sounded lame even as he said it, "I think I'm going to get a dreamless sleep potion from Pomfrey." Blaise turned on his heel to stare back down at Draco, eyebrows furrowed in skepticism. He blinked, and then scowled at the sheer oddness of it all. His friend had been acting so strangely of late.

"Draco, are you sure you're-"

"Yeah, it's nothing," lied Draco hastily. He didn't have much time. His talk with Blaise had wasted entirely too much time. He had to leave. Now. The pull of the moon was becoming stronger the longer he waited. "She might want to keep me longer, you know, maybe she can find out exactly why I'm not sleeping so well. But I'll see you tomorrow in class." Blaise eyed him in disbelief and snorted, but Draco ignored him.

The blonde turned back around and walked swiftly out of the common room and under the low-ceilinged mahogany beams, avoiding Blaise's dubious expression and trying not to attract too much attention. He knew his excuse was shoddy, but he didn't exactly have time to plan up a medal winning explanation. Draco would just have to patch it up later.

He practically bounded up the ancient stone stairs, taking them three at a time as he raced to the hospital wing. There was still the long trek through the tunnel to be made before he was completely secure.

The matron was waiting nervously at the ward entrance, clearly agitated at the boy's tardiness. She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyebrows, forehead wrinkling in agitation. "Leave a little earlier next time, Mr. Malfoy." She berated quietly. But Madam Pomfrey was more relieved that anything to see her charge, and quickly dismissed any of his excuses. Light from the setting sun was already streaming through the hospital window in hues of orange, yellow, and blood red. It was time.

"Ready to go?" she questioned. Draco could hear her heartbeat quicken by a fraction of a second, but he knew his was racing much faster. One more night, and it would be over for a month.

He nodded. Draco was ready.

The smell of his surroundings was always the first thing Draco noticed in the mornings, even before he opened his eyes. Upon awakening, the Slytherin would instinctively breathe in deeply, giving him instant knowledge of his whereabouts and the people near him. Usually, the first scent that assailed his nostrils was the stench of unwashed bodies, as it was almost always the strongest scent when one happened to live with Crabbe and Goyle. Mingled with that scent, there were always the weaker yet familiar aromas of ink and paper, dusty bed hangings, or the smoky hint of the fire lit the night before wafting up from the common room.

But this morning, even before he opened his eyes or thought about the events of the night before, the blonde instantly knew that something was different. It was not the odor of smoke or ink, nor the smell of teenage boys that he identified. Instead, the aromas of soft linen and magically sanitized hard steel were the strongest, followed by a myriad of scents that Draco recognized as standard potions ingredients. The typically present sound of his roommates' steady breathing was gone also, only to be replaced by the murmurings and random sounds of clinking tools and glass that could only mean one thing. He was in the hospital wing. Again.

Slowly opening his eyes, he flexed his muscles, testing for injuries. Nothing appeared to broken or horribly injured. Frowning, he pulled up his sleeves just in case, turning his arms as he looked for scratches or signs that the medi-witch had bandaged him up in some way. Nothing. Not altogether convinced, Draco lifted his flannel pajama top and peered at his abdomen. Everything seemed to be alright. Besides the usual stiffness and joint pain, it appeared that he had escaped any serious injury after a night of werewolf transformation. Thank Merlin!

He heard more voices drifting from the medi-witch's office.

All at once, as if hit by an invisible force, Draco detected another presence in the hospital wing. Another _inhuman_ presence. Although he had no idea if it was friend or foe, the Slytherin instinctively felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise and fought down the growl that was rising from the bottom of his throat. Eyes dancing around frantically for the source, he sat up in bed, not knowing why he was so on edge but fully knowing that something was wrong. Where was it? What was wrong? Danger? Should he run? Fight?

Mouth dry with anticipation and mind alert with possible escape routes, he madly scrambled out of his bed as the source came closer. If he could only make it to the door before they realized he was here, he would be home free. And if they gave chase, he could easily hide behind the statue of Glora the Enormous and evade detection. Afterwards, a race down several flights of stairs to the Slytherin common room would secure his flight. No one could enter without a password.

It was a good plan. And it would have been even better if it worked. Unfortunately, Draco´s simple yet effective escape plan ended rather prematurely when he became entangled in his bed sheets, and only succeeding in hitting the hospital wing floor with a resounding "oomph". In a few seconds, he was nothing more than a twisted knot of sheets and limbs on the hard, cold floor.

"Should I come back at a better time?" said an annoyingly familiar voice.

Throwing back the sheets over his head and gripping them tightly, Draco finally extricated his disheveled head enough to get a good look at his adversary. But at first glance, even Draco couldn't stop his words as they tumbled from his mouth.

"Oh no, not you?" he cried, a look of utmost consternation and disgust sweeping across his face before he could stop himself.

"I'm afraid so," replied Remus Lupin, inclining his head towards the ground. He tried to hide his surprised smile, but failed miserably. The older werewolf smiled good-naturedly. "It's nice to see you again, too."

A silence between the two followed, at which time Draco suddenly realized how stupid he must look sitting on the floor of the hospital wing in nothing but his pajamas and a pile of bed linens.

AN: Should I continue?


	12. To Do What Must Be Done

AN: I realize this is moving very slowly. Do you think I should speed it up?

Also: A funny thing happened to me the other day. My brother called me from his university, and asked me out of the blue "Hey, what's the name of the fanfiction story you write?" At this point I didn't know if he was gonna make fun of me or what, but he quickly said that, apparently, one of his friends really like HP fanfiction and was looking for a good story. I told him the name, and my pen name. And you know what? Randomly, she had heard of me, and she was already reading my story. And then she said she liked it! I don't know if she was just being nice, but it was weird to get feedback from a place that I would never expect it. It gave me the warm fuzzies to know that someone read my work and actually talked about it to other people. And it also reminded me that I should update.

Chapter 12: To Do What Must Be Done

Draco sat on the floor of the hospital wing, feeling rather foolish but determined to appear as regal as possible while looking up from the floor. He felt his cheeks burn bright red.

"Need any help?" said Lupin sincerely, throwing out a hand and starting forward as if to assist him.

"Of course not," sneered Draco. The Slytherin rose as if the floor had suddenly been electrified. He jumped up, throwing down the sheets and gathering himself as quickly as possible. "Like I would need any help from the likes of you," he muttered, almost as an afterthought.

Lupin's mouth thinned and his eyes became hard, the lines at the side of his eyes becoming more pronounced. He slowly withdrew his hand and clasped them in front of his threadbare robes, yet retained eye contact with Draco.

The exchange had an immediate effect. Draco felt a wave of awkwardness wash over him, and suddenly felt the need to increase the distance between the two of them. His eyes dropped to the floor and wandered. Seconds passed. Was he just going to sit there and look at him all day? Giving up on any other form of communication, he finally settled for sitting on the side of the bed, straight backed and hands braced on the edges. Considering how there was no other means of escape, Draco guessed that he was in for a long talk.

A silence followed. Lupin still stood, staring down at Draco as if sizing him up, while Draco waited impatiently, growing more bored by the second. One would think Lupin would have grown a little thicker skin by now, seeing as how he couldn't take a single barb from a teenager. Draco stretched exaggeratedly, locking eyes again with Lupin, hoping that this subtle body language would clue the werewolf in. "Well?" questioned Draco at last, raising his eyebrows. He didn't have all day, thought the boy with irritation

A small smile tugged at the corners of the professor's mouth. His eyes softened, and he sighed deeply, shaking his head. "Good to see that you haven't changed," he said resignedly. The professor turned, scanning the room for another place to sit. Finally, his eyes fell on one of the black visitor chairs across the room. He crossed the room and easily lifted the heavy wooden chair, bringing it back and setting it down to face Draco.

"If you hadn't insulted me, I would have known something was wrong," said the older werewolf, easing himself into the chair. He sighed contentedly and rested his hands on the knees of his robes, leaning back and closing his eyes. Many years of transformations were beginning to take their toll, leaving his joints especially stiff in the mornings after the change.

The boy shifted uncomfortably, the sound of rustling fabric particularly loud in his ears. He was intent on keeping his distance from the werewolf, and this suddenly close proximity put him on edge, like there was an itch between his shoulder blades that he couldn't scratch. Well, the other werewolf. Draco realized a bit belatedly that he still considered Lupin to be one of the "other beings". In reality, Draco was also one of the "others" now. The same menace to society. It would take Draco a long time before he could even begin to group himself into the same category as the pathetic creature that sat in front of him.

"To begin. The likes of "me" is more like the likes of "us". So I've heard," started Lupin, leaning forward heavily. When Draco didn't comment, he continued. "I am here," he said, "because Dumbledore requested my assistance concerning your recent contact with a member of the werewolf community."

"Tell me something I don't know," muttered Draco darkly. He turned his face to the sun-brightened window, watching Lupin out of the corner of his eye.

"That's a wonderful point, Draco. What exactly do you know?" replied Lupin, his voice suddenly taking on the lecturing tone that he used during Draco's former class.

"What's that supposed to mean?" snapped Draco, growing irritated. He didn't like to play games, especially not with Lupin.

Lupin smiled indulgently. "Exactly what I said. What do you know about lycanthropy? The cycles of the moon, your physical manifestations of lycanthropy, magical abilities. What have you learned in your research so far?" He waited expectantly.

The boy swallowed silently, his mind working at a feverish pace. Lupin was trying to trap him, and doing a pretty good job of it. Research? Did he mean research, like books? In the library? Lupin was out of his mind if he thought that Draco would spend valuable sleeping time on studying. Obviously, the numerous difficult transformations had somehow affected the older werewolf's brain, rendering him unable to understand the sleeping habits and needs of the teenage body. No wonder he wasn't teaching anymore.

Draco would have laughed, except that he knew he was about to look very silly if he didn't come up with something fast. Who needs books? He had life experience. _What would Granger do in this case? She would know the answers, thought Draco_, growing more and more disgusted with himself by the second.

He mustered his best lecturing tone as well. "Oh you know, the basics," began Draco in a flippant manner. "The crucial stuff that's… important," he said lamely, stalling for time. The basics, what are the basics? _Quick Draco, think of something_, his mind yelled. Draco made as if to adjust his position on the bed and gave a quick glance around the room. Anything to buy some more time.

"The basics?" questioned Lupin skeptically, eyeing Draco and crossing his arms over his chest. The older werewolf was already growing pompous. He'd have to be put in his place eventually.

"Yeah," he nodded, gaining confidence. He sat up a bit straighter. "I know exactly how my body has adjusted to lycanthropy. You know Professor, the thing I find most difficult to adjust to is the increased sensitivity to my auditory system. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Go on," answered Lupin warily, surveying the Slytherin.

Draco was gaining the upper hand. "Well," he continued, exuding confidence. "The natural aggression of the wolf has also proven a challenge, resulting is some rather confusing and disturbing consequences with my fellow classmates, which I believe will result in later-"

"Stop," said Lupin suddenly, cutting Draco off in mid sentence. Although surprised, Lupin realized he rather enjoyed the affronted look on Draco's face.

"Tell me something," said Lupin slowly, devoid of emotion, "that I cannot know after my first of week of werewolfism. Tell me something," he said, pausing. "about werewolf mating habits."

"Mating habits," said Draco with the arch of one elegant eyebrow. The man couldn't be serious.

He quickly realized that his professor was being quite serious when Lupin just sat there and stared at him again. He had such penetrating eyes. "Oh. Well," he began, inclining his head towards the ground and drawing out the last word. "A little drinking, a little dancing, dinner and a show… Maybe some privacy and there you go. Not overly complicated. If there's something I like about werewolves, it's the simplicity," he tried, attempting to sound confident but failing miserably.

Lupin stared at Draco, pausing just long enough to let the awkwardness seep back into the room.

"You haven't even picked up a book yet, have you?" stated Lupin.

Draco felt his face go hot. "Of course I have," declared Draco indignantly. He had picked up plenty of books! He just hadn't read them. "Did I say all werewolves?" he said in a dismissive manner, waving a hand. "You should be more specific with your questioning. I meant just Japanese werewolves. Of course, British werewolves have completely different mating habits, but one shouldn't confuse the Japanese with Mongolian werewolves, which are-"

"Alright, I've heard enough," declared Lupin, closing his eyes and rubbing his graying temples.

Draco felt the heat rise in his face again, feeling indignant and embarrassed. It was horribly uncouth to cut in while someone else was speaking. He didn't care about the circumstances. "This is stupid," spat Draco exasperatedly, his eyebrows slanting dangerously. "What have you proven? That you know more than I know about werewolves? Big deal. Old news," he said, rolling his eyes. The boy practically jumped from the bed and walked to the window, looking out through the glass on onto the grounds. The sunshine felt warm on his face.

"Not to be _rude_, or anything," continued Draco as he stared through the window, emphasizing his words, "but if you've come here to for the sole purpose of taunting me, I'd rather that you just left. I've been fine on my own so far. I'm sure there are other caged animals somewhere that you can prod with a stick." This time Draco completely turned his back to Lupin, mouth set, and firmly crossed his arms over his chest. Anger bubbled beneath Draco's skin. He felt like stomping on something soft and fuzzy. But this was no time to lose control. The truth was that he knew that he needed Lupin, but he wasn't going to be pushed around like some Hufflepuff first year. He had to assert some type of dominance, some form of assertiveness. He waited, hoping that Lupin wouldn't see through his bluff.

Sighing again, Lupin stood, arching his back as if to remove a crick. Once done, he turned back and faced Draco, a resigned look on his prematurely lined face. "Well I certainly don't want to be rude either." Draco stole a glance back at his former professor, lips still pursed. "I realize that you're completely independent, but a little help never hurt anyone. Should I keep talking to your back, or are you going to show some common courtesy and face me?"

Draco turned to face Lupin, arms still resolutely crossed, his angular face clearly displaying his mistrust.

Lupin wasn't dense. He could feel the suspicion radiating from the boy.

Lupin opened his hands wide, displaying his palms and locking sincere eyes with the Slytherin, his voice taking on an earnestness that Draco had not yet heard. "You know why I'm here. I have no ulterior motives, no hidden secrets. I'm not asking you to trust me. Just learn from me. That's all I want." He let his hands fall to his sides, and Draco felt more than saw a wave of sadness creep out of the older man. The talk had apparently taken a lot more out of Lupin than Draco realized. Sighing tiredly once more, Remus Lupin turned and started for the door.

Draco blinked. What just happened? Turning quickly, he made to intercept Lupin, completely forgetting that he was maintaining distance.

"Wait a sec," yelled Draco, reaching out a hand and catching the older werewolf's shoulder. Lupin stopped and turned, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

"That's it?" said Draco, throwing up his hands. "What was that for? What are we doing? What are you doing? What's going on?" he cried, desperate for more information. They always kept him out of the loop. Not this time.

Lupin smiled genuinely this time. He reached out a hand and patted Draco's shoulder. "All in good time, Pup. Think of it as a training regime. This is your first lesson. Patience," he said, shooting a serious look at the boy. Draco couldn't help but snort in disbelief. "But for now," said Lupin, ignoring the younger werewolf and yawning mid-sentence. He brought a hand up to stifle his yawn. "I need a nap. You're not the only one who was out late last night. I'll contact you tomorrow. Until then, get some sleep, replenish your energy." With one last look and a reassuring smile, Lupin opened the hospital wing door and walked down the stone staircases.

The Slytherin stood silently at the entrance of the hospital wing, not moving at all, listening to the faint footfalls on stone as Lupin made his way down to the dungeons.

He had direction, he had a plan. A simple step by step plan. Learn from Lupin, control his temper, and don't kill Lupin out of sheer frustration. That's what Draco had to focus on.

The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall looked overcast and dreary. Clouds rushed by in shades of white, gray, and grumpy blues, promising storms later on in the day. Harry barely registered the change in weather. As he, Hermione, and Ron sat down at the long, wooden tables, a sudden rush of owls over the hall momentarily hid the turbulent sky above them.

All at once, a hundred pairs of eyes fearfully flew upwards, tracking the flights and destinations of the owls, carefully noting the black envelopes that sped towards their unhappy recipients. No one looked forward to owls anymore. Everyday, more and more deaths by violent means were reported in the Daily Prophet. The days that Harry Potter's love life made the front page were as dead as the silent victims that graced the Prophet's pages.

A tawny owl glided gracefully towards their section of the Gryffindor table. For a split second, Harry held his breath. But even at this distance, he could tell that it was the daily owl carrying Hermione's newspaper, and he felt his panic slide away. Sighing in relief, Harry watched as the owl noisily landed on Ron's plate of sausages.

Ron looked horror struck. "Gerroff!!" he yelled frantically, scooting the owl away from his plate towards Hermione.

The tawny owl hooted noisily, shooting an affronted look at Ron before it hopped over to Hermione. She carefully untied the newspaper and slipped her money into the owl's waiting pouch. Giving one last hoot of indignation, the tawny gave a mighty flap of its wings, cuffing Ron over his red head as it soared back through the rafters of the hall.

Ron rubbed the side of his head crossly. "Stupid owls," Ron muttered under his breath as he grabbed his fork and started picking around his plate for salvageable food. "It had the nerve to look offended. After it landed on MY plate."

Hermione smirked good naturedly. Opening the paper, she quickly scanned the front page, eyes moving anxiously.

"Anything unusual?" asked Harry as he plucked a lone feather out of Ron's hair.

"Maybe," said Hermione distractedly. "It seems," she said, clucking her tongue, "that there have been several more unexplained deaths. Of families."

At one point in their young lives, this news would have horrified them. Today, it was just a matter of course.

"Well it's not exactly unexplained, is it?" pointed out Ron, who had taken time to surface for air in between bites. "We all know who did it. Deatheaters. They'll kill anybody nowadays." Ron looked over at Harry for confirmation. Harry also nodded reluctantly.

"Maybe," said Hermione once more, who didn't appear to be entirely convinced.

After several minutes of reading, in which time Ron had plenty of time to reload his plate, Hermione finally sighed and gave the paper to Harry, who accepted it eagerly.

A familiar picture greeted Harry. The dark mark, green and menacing as it shimmered across the front page, flew over a cottage in a quiet country glen. The house looked relatively undisturbed. "It looks like Deatheaters," said Harry matter-of-factly, closing the paper again and handing it back across the table to Hermione.

Hermione sent the picture one last calculating look. "I must admit that it appears that way, but did you read the rest?" she questioned, holding the paper and scanning the paragraph once more. "It says the victims, all perfectly average, normal witches and wizards, were ripped to shreds, as if a wild animal had attacked them. The Duncan family. The Haversham family. Even the children," said Hermione, her voice lowering to a whisper, as if in respect for the dead.

Anger flared in Harry's insides at the loss of innocent lives, but he fought it back down and considered Hermione's words briefly. There was nothing he could do for those who were already dead. "The Deatheaters aren't exactly known for being merciful, Hermione. And even if it's not Deatheaters," continued Harry quickly as Hermione opened her mouth, ready to counter. "Voldemort's been known to use werewolves to do his dirty work. Unfortunately, that's not unusual either."

"That's not what bothers me," said Hermione, shaking her bushy head. "Think about it. Why would Voldemort attack these people like this. None of them were particularly well placed in the ministry, or had positions of power. In fact, they were normal in every way. And," she continued faster before Harry could interrupt her, "this nearly mirrors the murders from last week. You remember the Hurley family? A normal family seemingly killed at random, but in a horrifying way. It just doesn't make sense, and if that rag of a newspaper doesn't see it, then they're thicker than I thought," she finished, practically crunching her piece of toast in her hand.

Now Harry was stumped. Why would Voldemort kill these people in such a brutal fashion? Normally, he reserved his more creative deaths for someone important, or someone he particularly hated. Why these people?

"Who cares?" Ron interjected, setting down his orange juice. "It's You-Know-Who. He's bonkers anyway. For all we know, he's set his sights on orphanages and senior centers." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glanced down the table for the last remnants of breakfast. When nothing caught his eye, he turned back to face the young witch. "And anyway, Hermione," he said, taking on a serious tone, "you won't help yourself by worrying over something that you can't solve yet. For all we know, there are a million crime scene details that all point to something else. Let the Aurors do their jobs." Ron shrugged his broad shoulders, as if to say that he too was stumped.

Hermione finished stabbing the butter onto her toast, which now looked like it had already been eaten after Hermione's continued mutilations.

"I guess you're right," she sighed at last, looking wistfully at the Prophet. "I just wish," she began, then paused. Her voice gained force. "I wish I knew more. These few snippets of information that we get out of the Prophet drive me mad. Like it's taunting me by yelling 'Look at what we know! You have to rely on us or it's no information at all!" she huffed, her voice bearing an uncanny resemblance to Rita Skeeter's.

Harry silently agreed, but realized that the period before Potions wasn't the best time to get Hermione riled.

Harry made a noncommittal noise. "It's alright Hermione. We'll keep our eyes open. If you can't figure it out, no one can." He grinned broadly across the table, catching her eyes.

She smiled, pleased, but tried to hide it by taking a bite of toast. Instead, she also nodded her head sagely. "We'll wait," she said, after swallowing. "Besides, I hold myself to better standards than that Skeeter cow any day."

Harry and Ron guffawed loudly, both amused and pleased to hear Hermione criticize someone else besides them. She really had an acid tongue when she wanted to.

The dungeons were dark and cold at any time of the year, but particularly during the early spring. Most certainly, it was the thought that everything outside was so green and alive that made the dankness all the more palpable to Lupin as he quickly strode down the halls. For a so-called dark creature, Lupin was surprisingly reticent to retain quarters in such a dreary setting. And, although solitary by necessity, he much preferred the company of his peers to the introverted state that Snape usually kept. He had always thought that Snape would make a much better dark creature than he.

His footsteps echoed hollowly along the stone corridor. These enclosed spaces always made him nervous as well. Any Slytherin with a mean disposition or mischievous nature could easily pop out of any dark corner and throw a hex or two at unsuspecting, casual observers.

He sighed heavily and told himself that he was being paranoid. He was a professor! His school years were long gone. Years of war and living day to day had left more than physical scars on the prematurely gray werewolf.

Quickening his pace, he wound his way through the maze of dungeons before he finally arrived at Severus Snape's office door. He knocked and waited expectantly.

"Enter," said a cold, harsh voice from inside. The werewolf pushed the heavy door forward and crossed the threshold.

"Lupin," sneered Snape, bristling at the entrance of his former yearmate. As usual, he was seated at his desk, reading a long parchment that disappeared behind the desktop. He rolled the parchment carefully, opening the top drawer of the desk and gently placing it inside. The drawer clicked, indicating the locking charm that was surely in use. "It has been some time now. How…" he paused, glancing over Lupin as the werewolf hurriedly shut the door behind him. "threadbare you look today. Those frayed robes remind me. I need to owl a new order of robes in for myself. I don't want to be mistaken for a miscreant off the street." Snape smirked, eyeing Lupin from across his desk.

"How unfortunate," the werewolf countered carelessly, not missing a beat. "I believe that black robes are on back-order at the present time. Either you'll have to change your color, or you'll have to go naked. And believe me, Severus. No one wants to see that." He paused, as if contemplating something very important, and gave Snape an obvious up and down stare. "You've been putting on a little weight lately. Shall I ring up some tea for us? Perhaps I won't order biscuits," he said casually.

He ignored Snape, who was glaring daggers, and snapped his fingers. Immediately, two house elves appeared holding a tea tray the size of a carriage wheel, filled with sweet breads, a pile of toast, eggs, and several teapots. "Just place it on the desk, if you will." Smiling happily, the two house elves rushed towards the desk and cleared the papers to the side. Snape rose and spluttered angrily, but didn't manage to make any intelligible words before the house elves were gone, as quickly as they had come.

"I hope you don't mind," said Lupin, unable to keep the smile from appearing across his face as he leaned a thin hip against the bulky desk. "I took the liberty of ordering breakfast in advance." In reality, Lupin could care less if Snape felt slighted. It was good for the man to have some human (well, close enough) contact every now and again.

Eyeing the rickety student chair with distaste, Lupin cast a swift cushioning charm, and then settled comfortably in the chair facing across from Snape's desk. Still scowling, Snape took his seat once more, pulling his chair closer.

Snape glowered at the massive tray, and then scanned his desk angrily. "There are doilies on my desk, Lupin," he hissed, picking up one of the offending frilly objects and holding it away from his person like some unpleasant creature. He crinkled his nose in revulsion. "There better be a good reason why there are doilies on my desk."

"There's a perfectly good reason for every one of my actions, Severus," he declared, reaching forward to pour two cups of tea. "One lump or two?"

Snape cradled his chin in his hand and surveyed him. Deciding that there were no hidden meanings or jibes, Snape replied "I'm certain you have a reason for being here. I'll decide if it's pressing enough for you to distract me from my work. Two."

Lupin dropped two lumps of sugar into a white tea cup, then set it upon a delicate plate and handed it to Snape. The dark man accepted the tea, if somewhat grudgingly, and sipped it gingerly. Giving what could have been described as a pleased smile on Severus Snape, but perhaps a grimace on anyone else, the Slytherin Head of House breathed the scent in deeply, enjoying the aroma of the freshly brewed beverage and the companionable silence that followed.

Lupin also sipped his tea for several silent seconds, wrapping his hands around the cup and reveling in the warmth that seeped into his cold hands. He crossed an ankle over his left knee and leaned heavily back, fully relaxing for the first time in days.

He nearly smiled when he saw Snape eye a danish hungrily, then unconsciously lay a hand on his slender belly as if making a judgment call.

"Severus, I was kidding. You're not fat," said Lupin, rolling his eyes.

Snape whipped his obsidian eyes back up, dark brows narrowing across the desk. "I was thinking no such thing," stated Snape acidly, as if the idea was completely preposterous. But he immediately grabbed the danish and began eating it. This time Lupin's eyes danced with mirth. Snape pointedly ignored him. They settled into another silence, both enjoying their tea and snacks.

"Does he know?" asked Lupin anxiously, breaking the silence and peering over the rim of his own teacup.

He watched as the muscles in Snape's body visibly tensed, pulled tight like a violin string. "Not yet," Snape replied, compressing his lips and staring off into space. He set the remains of the danish on his plate, no longer hungry.

Lupin casually noticed that he was resting one hand on the arm of his stiff backed chair, the other now idly spinning a worn quill through his fingers. His scattered papers lay forgotten. Severus Snape wasn't a man to display his nervousness, and only a few tell-tale signs could clue even the most observant of men in to the man's tightly guarded emotions. A flash of his obsidian eyes or a seemingly errant twitch of his fingers could all signify Snape's discomfort or anxiousness. Or they could simply be mundane gestures. Sometimes it was hard to tell, even for someone like Lupin, who had such keen insight when it came to observing details.

Since the advent of the Second War, Snape and Lupin, while never considered friends, maintained what could be considered friendly contact. Of course there was the regular exchanging of barbs and insults, but Severus wouldn't be Severus if he stopped the verbal abuse altogether. Severus Snape was an odd creature, but Lupin found himself strangely fascinated by his brooding and self-deprecating nature, all from a man who did more for the Cause than any other five members of the Order put together. As such, Lupin found that, if he needed someone to trust, or simply someone to argue with, Snape was always his first choice for companionship. And, to put it bluntly, there was simply no one left.

So many of his peers had died for the cause.

"How are you going to go about preparing him?" asked Snape, quick to the point.

"I'm not doing anything different than if he was any other wizard bitten by a werewolf. There's no need to alarm him."

Snape eyed him across his desk skeptically. "You mean you're doing absolutely nothing to prepare him?" asked Snape, the disbelief evident in his voice. When Lupin didn't reply, Snape jerked his dark head to the side angrily, his eyes alive behind his dark mask. "It will be a lamb to the slaughter." He brought a hand up to cradle his chin.

"He will be prepared," said Lupin more forcefully. "But I will teach in my own way. I don't intend to terrorize him. You would think, after years of terrorizing your own pupils, that you would realize that by now Severus." As soon as he said it, Lupin wished he could take his words back. He felt a chill move down his spine as Snape turned his black eyes back to him.

Snape eyed him darkly and tilted his chin downwards, his black hair falling like a curtain framing his face. "I do not terrorize my students," he seethed, his voice taking on a deadly calm. "I prepare them. There's no use in coddling them. They deserve the truth. If it happens to scare them, so be it. Better in my classroom than out there, when it's too late."

"He's still a boy Severus, you can't –"

"That is no BOY, Lupin," the dark man hissed, standing and leaning forward over his desk. "Open your eyes. He ceased being a boy the minute he stepped into this castle. He is not so fragile a thing as you believe, not like these other students that have passed through our doorways," said Snape, disgust thick in his voice.

Snape walked towards one of the large bookshelves that lined the wall and gently ran a finger down the spine of an imposing black tome. The Potions Master visibly calmed, and when he spoke, Lupin would have sworn under Veritaserum that Snape's voice was touched with regret. "Only the truth will prepare him for what's ahead. Shallow promises of knowledge and safety will do nothing but kill him quicker. And Albus is a fool if he thinks he can hide any student within these walls from the Dark Lord. It's only a matter of time. And THAT is what I teach, Werewolf," he said, turning again to face the werewolf and sneering the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth. "If those students can't handle a bit of yelling or pressure, then there's no hope for them. And I don't plan on wasting my valuable time on someone who's going to die the minute they step out of the wards placed upon these grounds."

Lupin was speechless. Yet amazingly, he was beginning to see an insane type of logic to Snape's tirade. That didn't mean that he agreed with everything. The werewolf certainly wasn't ready to condemn a student, just because a cranky, bat-like professor scared them when he swooped behind their cauldrons. But Snape did raise a very important issue that he could tell he'd be thinking about all night. How much information was too much information? Was it riskier to reveal everything and scare his student half to death, or reveal nothing and risk complete ignorance? At the moment, Draco was completely unsuspecting and unprepared for what lie ahead.

Chapter 13


End file.
